Enough
by Theolyn
Summary: A decade after Fred's death, George has finally found peace. But is peace alone enough? HG/GW. DH Epilogue non-compliant. Now Complete!
1. Sips of Pleasure

AN: My favorite pairing has always been SS/HG; I love the light/dark contrast. But I started thinking about what life must have been like for George after losing his twin, and I thought that he deserved some Hermione in his life. So there!

Enough

By Theolyn

Chapter One

George Weasley sat in his glorious yard and tipped his face back to the sun. It was the small moments, the sound of the birds in his garden, the feeling of sweetlight on his face, that allowed him to keep joy in his life. Sips of pleasure. Brief moments when he could acknowledge, in his heart of hearts, that he was glad to be alive, even if alive meant being without Fred.

The moments between the sips...well, they were fine really. There were still days when the pain was shattering. A scent, or a song, or a snatch of memory could strip his equanimity and leave him raw and aching. But those days were fewer and farther between. For the most part now, he was content.

On the whole, he considered that he navigated his life rather well, running a thriving business, restoring his gingerbread farmhouse, babysitting his rapidly growing hoard of nephews and nieces. He might not be the poster child for outrageous happiness that his family wanted him to be. But he wasn't the weeping, shadow of a human he felt he might have become. He was content, and considering the decade he'd spent climbing out of hell, content wasn't a half-bad place to be.

He had his home. He had his garden. He had nieces and nephews that spilled in like a red tide and filled it all with laughter. It was, he believed, enough.

xxxx

It was such a perfect moment, the solitary man, the lovely garden, the trilling birds, that Hermione felt herself sigh with sheer pleasure. Ornate wrought iron table and chairs next to an outrageously lush willow tree. Roses blooming riotously along the back trellis, and the long, muscular male, as content as a ginger cat in his patch of light. It seemed criminal to ruin his peace...he had fought so very hard to get it.

Hermione shifted, ready to walk away. But the movement alerted him, and his pale eyelids flickered open. Even now, after all these years, Hermione caught the brief flash of disappointment as he realized that hers was not the face he longed to see. But it was gone in an instant, and Hermione, unlike some, did not take that momentary emotion personally. She focused instead on the second reaction, one of welcome and of pleasure.

"Granger!" He called out, in a voice unchanged from his school days. "Please come join me. Have a spot of tea."

Hermione walked over, laid a kiss of greeting on his smoothly shaved cheek. It smelled of sunlight. "I can't stay long, but I'd love a single cup."

An extra cup was accio'd, a cushion plumped, and the two old friends settled down to enjoy the morning.

"George, it is simply gorgeous here. Fred would have loved this."

George smiled. It pleased him that Hermione never hesitated to mention Fred in front of him. The rest of the world treated the subject like it was an unexploded bomb in the room. But Hermione talked of his brother often and with fondness, which was one of the reasons he found her company so very welcome. "Yes, I quite think he would have. So how is my chief counselor today?"

Hermione sat her beautiful Limoges cup back on the table. George did have an eye for pretty things. "I'm fine, getting rich in fact. That hourly rate you insist on paying me is outrageous. Really, George, it's twice my going rate, and the work is not that difficult. If you'd only focus on your less obnoxious product lines, you wouldn't need my help at all."

George wiggled his eyebrows "And what fun would that be, Hermione?"

"I'm a lawyer, George. I'm not paid to consider fun. Only liability." It was a familiar argument, and one they both enjoyed. She was sorry to have to change the subject. "So. I'm here to warn you. Harry and Ron are planning a birthday party for you next week. A surprise party."

George's smile faded around the edges. He was better, to be sure. But their birthday was a tricky day, and one he preferred to celebrate in private. "Have you told them that's bullocks?"

Hermione sighed. "I have. Not that it's done any good. Ron still has the emotional depth of a pickle, you know. And Harry's too besotted with baby Albus to even notice the whole stupid idea . Ron has him convinced that a surprise party is just the thing for cheering you up."

"I don't need cheering up."

Hermione looked at him with her warm brown eyes, and laid a comforting hand on his. "I know that. Ginny knows that. But the rest of your family think that if they can somehow make you the boy you were before we lost him, then it will make their own pain go away."

"It's selfish, is what it is."

"I won't disagree with that, George. But they're not trying to drive you daft. They love you. They just don't understand."

"They never have. But you do, Hermione." His face turned quizzical. "How is it that you do?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders to hide the blush on her cheeks. "I don't know George. I just do." They sat for a moment, sipping in silence. Then Hermine rose from her chair. "I'm sorry to bring the bad news and run, but I have to get back. My parents are in London this weekend, and if I don't lunch with them I'll hear about it for weeks. And please, don't let the boys know I ratted them out. Lavender still hasn't forgiven me for not coming to Ron's birthday, and another strike against me so soon might get me banished entirely."

"I'll be silent as the grave. Or I'll throttle them both. Either way, you'll be anonymous."

"Either is fine with me."

George laughed. It wasn't something he did very often, and it was a deep, welcome sound. "So, I'm stuck, aren't I?"

Hermione looked rueful. "Fraid so."

"Will you be there?"

"Miss a possible throttling of Ron Weasly? Never. I'll be there."

"Then I'll muddle through. I've been through worse, you know."

Hemione gave a wry smile and chuckled. "I've noticed." She stood from the table, and he followed. He'd become quite the gentleman. "George, try not to let it ruin your day." She gathered her things, and stepped into his open arms for a hug. She kept it brief; she'd found that his hugs disconcerted her of late.

After she apparated away, George settled back into his chair. He mastered his discomfort about the party by focusing instead on the fading sensation of Hermione's lush little body pressed against his. Small sips of pleasure. Small sips of pleasure.

It was enough.

End Chapter One


	2. The Wrong Song

Enough

By Theolyn

Chapter Two

The party started awkward enough. Thanks to Hermione, he wasn't surprised that dinner at his sister's turned out to be a party with 40 people. But he did a fair job of pretending to be, for which Hermione silently mouthed the words "Well done."

Then he settled in to catching up with his old school pals. Of course, none of them mentioned Fred, or acknowledged that this was as much his birthday as George's, but he couldn't really ask for miracles, could he? He contented himself with the fact that they all appeared to buy his "I'm completely normal" act. They weren't tiptoeing around him as if he might burst into tears at any moment, and that was a definite improvement. Another decade or two, and he might actually like these people again. Maybe.

Harry's friends were a bit better. They were a weird lot, so it was hard for him to tell if they were being weird around him. He suspected not. How anyone would ever tell if Luna Lovegood was acting weird he'd never know. Neville was a good bloke; still seemed a bit of a pushover, if you didn't catch the steel in his eyes. And Hermione, well, Hermione was a work of art. Gorgeous hen, that one, with a brain to match. He'd always had a soft spot for the smart ones. Too bad she'd been with Ron...one didn't poach on a brother's territory, even if the brother had gone and married someone else like a complete idiot.

And then it was time for the Happy Birthday song. It was rowdy, it was raucous, and it punched him in the gut when the penultimate line contained only one name. After a lifetime of sharing this day with his brother, he'd never get used to the sound of his name alone. He smiled some more, made sure his mother saw him enjoying the cake, and used the hubbub to escape to the garden.

His mum's fresh-air spell was still holding, so the London night tasted as cool and fresh as his country home's. He leaned on the fence, and considered his solitude. There weren't many people, he thought, who could manage to feel lonely in a crowded room, but it was a trick that he seemed to have mastered. He was alone all the time...but the lone'liness was something that came and went, lodging like knot the size of a fist in his belly.

That's why, he told himself, he felt such warmth when he saw that Hermione had come out to join him.

"Here," she said, thrusting a small glass of amber liquid into his hand. She settled onto a bench and filled a glass for herself. "Was it the song?"

He looked at her in surprise. "Thought I covered that."

"You did. But I was watching for it. That's the only reason I noticed something was wrong"

George shook his head in disbelief. "What are you, some kind of dead-twin psychic?"

Hermione laughed. "Hardly. I just have a knack for reading Weasleys. Bottoms up."

He tipped his head back, and then smacked his lips in appreciation. "Excellent. What is this, by the way?"

"Don Julio. 1924. Expensive as hell, but worth it. Dad says it'll put hair on your chest."

George looked inside his collar theatrically. "Do I need hair on my chest?"

Not for me, she thought, before she could corral the stray thought. Aloud, she just grunted. "Not according to the members of the Witches Weekly Most Eligible Wizard fanclub. They seem to think you're tasty just the way you are."

George barked a humorless laugh. "They would, wouldn't they. A war hero with a tragic story and a bulging pocketbook. Doesn't get more attractive than that. Who cares about the hole in my head? I could grow hair on my eyeballs and they'd still throw themselves my way."

Hermione knew he was right. George had always done well with the ladies, but as his fame and success grew, so did his reputation. In the worst part of his grief, she knew that he'd taken comfort there on a regular basis. She hadn't judged him for it, but she was more comfortable now that he seemed to have lost interest in the witch of the week parade. If he still played the field now he was very discreet. Even his brothers had noticed. Ron had taken to calling him "The Hazelwood Nun," which, strangely enough, seemed to please him.

She did not share his problem. "Could be worse, though. At least they're not intimidated by you. Most of the men I've dated have run as fast as their legs could carry them once they realized I was "THAT" Hermione Granger."

"Wankers. All men. Self included. Speaking of which, how are you enjoying young Milton's company? He doesn't seem to be running."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Did you know about that?"

"No. But if my family is going to torture me with celebrations and parties, it's only fair that they shove foppish blind dates in your direction. How's this one?"

"I.Q. of a turnip. Really, George, where does your Mum get them? Truth is, I'm tempted to throw in the towel on the entire dating thing. It's just not worth the suffering. I'm 27 years old now. Old enough to know that I'm just not cut out for the game. I'm just going to have to fly solo, I think.

George smiled, the knot in his stomach long gone. He clinked his glass against hers.

"To life without a co-pilot, then."

Hermione nodded. "Life without a co-pilot."

End Chapter Two.


	3. Pocket Queens

Enough

Chapter 3

Much drinking later, George surveyed his party with a more benevolent eye. His school friends had long departed, followed by the unlamented young Milton. Finally, his parents collected Ginny's kids, and floo'd back to the burrow, leaving only the people he actually wanted to be with behind. There was dancing, or something approximating dancing. It included a lot of jumping around and some kind of muggle spelling ritual that Hermione referred to by initials. She instructed them in how to form the proper letters with their arms, although how that last one made an A, he'd never know. It was weird, but strangely cathartic, and he had more fun than he'd had in recent memory. Then Ginny and Harry snuck off to have child-free sex, and the rest of them sat around the table to play some American poker.

By this time, George and Don Julio had done some serious bonding, so he was quickly parted from his chips. He lasted only one hand longer than Luna Lovegood, who was a notoriously poor, if enthusiastic player. Lavender had gotten bored and crashed out shortly thereafter. Neville had surprised himself by finishing a respectable third. If not for that lucky queen Ron pulled on the river, Neville might have faced Hermione in the finals. But the queen came, so, of course, it came down to Ron and Hermione.

It was always Ron and Hermione, wasn't it? George sighed. He really was going to have to do something about this, this, _feeling_ he was developing for his brother's ex. If only she hadn't been Ron's girlfriend. He wondered what Fred would say about that.

As often happened when he asked himself that question, the answer was there, as if it had been waiting for an invitation.

"_What would I say about that? I'd say you're a bloody hypocrite my boy_."

"_A hypocrite? What are you going on about?"_

_"With all this 'I won't touch my brother's girl rubbish.' What about sixth year? After the Yule Ball? With Angelina Johnson? In the astronomy tower?"_

_"Bloody Hell... Yeah, well, that was different."_

_"How was it different?"_

_"You were THERE, that's why it was different."_

_"Yeah, but was it my being there that made it okay, or the fact that I knew and didn't mind? Ron may give you the thumbs up, but if you expect him to sit there while you have a go at Hermione, I'm thinking you'll be waiting a long time. Don't think Lav-Lav's gonna appreciate the 'Mione sandwich idea."_

George snorted aloud, which drew an interested glance from Luna, but went unnoticed by the other players. He waved drunkenly at her, she waved back, and then he returned to the serious psychosis in his head.

_"I'm psychosis now, eh? Brilliant! Anyway. If you want Hermione, talk to Ronnikins about it. But remember, Mate, Hermione isn't one of your groupies...you break her heart, and I'll give you what for."_

_"You wish...'Course I wish you could, too."_

Conversation with himself completed, George did his best to focus blurry eyes on the game. There was a modest pot, a queen on the table, a six and a three. Neville was sitting dealer, and he turned a second queen. Ron immediately got a triumphant little smile on his face. Wanker must have a queen.

"All in."

Hermione stared at him, hard, for an entire long minute, and then got her own smile on her face.

"Call." She deftly flipped her cards to reveal pocket kings.

Ron scowled and turned over an ace and a 7.

"No queen." Hermione preened. "I knew it. Better pray for an ace, buddy-boy."

The river turned a 7...good, but not good enough. Ron threw his hands up in the air in disgust while Hermione made a show of collecting her pile of knuts and galleons. She finished up with a quick victory dance beside her chair.

George was surprised to find himself practically drooling. Talk to Ron first, he reminded himself. Get the thumbs up. But she was just so...luscious. Waiving her booty around like that. Mmmmm...maybe the whole Ron thing didn't matter. After all, what would a tiny bit of snogging hurt?

Hermione caught George's stare and smiled. George gave her a thumbs up and a tequila-enhanced grin that he thought was sexy, and she thought was adorable. Time to get the bottle away from that boy.

"George," she chuckled, "Where's Don Julio?"

George leaned over in his chair and produced the bottle in question, now nearly empty. "The Don and I are now amigos. He has invited me to his Hacienda, where he will show me the magic of the Agave, and I shall reward him with all the whizbangs his fiesta could ever need. And then, we will go down to the ocean, where we will catch sharks and put scorpions under our hats to prove to the world that we are men."

"He's mental, that one," grumbled Ron. Then George's eyes drifted closed and his head conked onto the table.

Ron sighed, but looked, on the whole, rather pleased with himself. "Guess he enjoyed his birthday after all, eh Mione?"

Hermione flashed her full money purse, and danced some more. "I certainly enjoyed it!"

"Right. Common, Neville, help me get this poor sod into a bedroom will ya? 'Mione, Mum made up a batch of morning after in the kitchen, when you finish your dancing, would you bring a cup?"

When Hermione arrived at Harry's guestroom, she found that the boys had left George fully clothed upon the bed. She frowned. The least they could have done was take his boots off. So she set about the task herself. She also unbuttoned his starched shirt and slid it off so he could sleep in his nice comfortable tee. Her half-drunken mind took notice of the beautiful, lean musculature of his arms. Yum. She considered removing his pants, but figured that she should quit while she was ahead. He was her client after all. She did give in to the temptation to smooth his long, strawberry locks away from his face. So peaceful in sleep. So dreamy.

Hermione shook her head. This was her friend, goddamn it. And she wasn't going to make that particular mistake again. It had taken years for her and Ron to get back to normal after their failed affair. It just wasn't worth it.

George's eyes opened. He stared at her, amber eyes happy, but unfocused.

"Alright, Hermione?"

"Just fine, George. Drink this down, now, it will help your head in the morning." When he'd finished with the cup, she extinguished the candle by his bed.

She turned at the door on impulse. She'd danced with him all night. What could a song hurt?

"George? I've wanted to sing this all night: _Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday FredandGeorge. Happy Birthday to you_."

George smiled. "That's the way it's supposed to sound. It feels like my birthday now." He plumped his pillow and settled in. "You know, 'Mione"

"What?"

"I think Fred would have liked the Don."

Hermione laughed, full-throated. "Yes, I believe he would. Now, go to sleep."

And so he did...with a smile on his face.

End, Chapter 3

AN: Many thanks to those of you who took the time to review; there aren't as many readers in this 'ship, so I can't expect as much feedback as I get in HG/SS. However, your feedback really does inspire the story. It lets me know what is working, and where the story falls short. So please, let me know what you think!

OT: For those of you who think Tequila is a horrible liquor that makes you sick the next morning, you've been drinking American Cuervo, which is not real Tequila. Try the good stuff; it's a revelation!

This chapter is dedicated to my CS friends, especially Jason, who brought the 1924!


	4. Leap of Faith

Chapter 4

Hermione puttered to her kitchen to start coffee. En route, she took inventory. Headache? Yes, mild. Stomachache? Not really. Bumps and bruises and muscle soreness from dancing like a lunatic for hours? Yes, yes, and yes, but nothing that a mild restorative wouldn't take care of.

On the whole, especially considering the fact that she'd finished her evening consuming half a bottle of Harry's best port with Luna, not bad after a night of excess.

Speaking of excess, she wondered how George was feeling after his love affair with the Don. George. Hermione smiled. Once the initial awkwardness had faded, he'd had a really good time last night. Some of it due to the Tequila, of course...but unless she was off the mark, not all of it. He'd begun to change of late. She couldn't quite put the difference into words, but he'd definitely reached a new level of peace with his life.

After the final battle, they'd all worried that George wouldn't make it. Hermione had feared that he would arrange an "accident" with one of his more volatile products. One day, they'd go into his lab and they would find nothing left but scorch marks and a pile of red hair. But that hadn't happened; George hadn't taken the easy way out. He'd put one foot in front of the other and kept on moving forward, even though every step was obviously agonizing.

After a couple of years, his family had resumed normal life. But for George, everyone knew, normal would never be again. If he couldn't live with Fred, he said, then he would have to live for him. At that point, he threw himself into building their dream, growing 3W with tireless will.

As the years passed, slowly, steadily, he'd continued climbing back to them. George was nothing if not determined. Watching him fight for, and obtain a new balance in his life, well, it was the single most admirable thing that Hermione had ever witnessed.

There was a lot to admire about George Weasley. Instantly her mind cast back to the moment when she'd undressed him for bed. Those long athletic arms: muscled, lean, heavy as tree trunks...She'd always been theoretically aware that George practiced boxing, but to see what a decade of heavy-bag work had done to his arms and chest, well, it was a much more visceral experience.

Hermione gave herself a mental cheek-slap. Thinking him admirable was acceptable. Fantasizing about what those arms would feel like wrapped around her body was not. He was, Hermione reminded herself, her friend, AND her client, and thus doubly off limits.

If she couldn't get that into perspective, she was going to have to ensure that she spent less time with the man.

XXX

When he awoke the next morning, George was in a pensive mood. He gathered his things, scrawled a note, and tiptoed out the front door so his apparition pop wouldn't wake the Potters. Thanks to the morning after Hermione had poured down his throat the night before, he felt pretty decent, despite having consumed way more tequila than anyone had a right to.

Hermione. He climbed the front steps to Hazelwood, and pondered yesterday's revelations. In the long haul back from grief, George had gotten to know his emotional landscape pretty well. It was the song that did it, he decided. Oh, he'd been moving in that direction for months now, bit by bit. He had categorized it as attraction, interest. Something warm, but comfortable. Something safe.

But last night, lying in bed with her thin, wavering voice singing Happy Birthday to him...well, it shoved him hard, past affection, past interest, and into a scary place beyond all that. A place where the next stop was a long, hard, emotional fall. As he'd drifted off to sleep, it had come to him with great clarity, rousing him instantly despite his inebriation, that this woman might actually be THE woman.

Love. He and Fred had talked about it, imagined it, in the distant future of course. They'd both wanted to find it. Then, they'd get that big farmhouse, turn it into a duplex, and raise their families side by side. But they'd always made the assumption that when love hit, it would come in a thunderclap, a stranger seen from a distance, instantly recognized as destiny.

He'd never imagined that he'd slide in that direction with a good friend. Never thought that it would happen gradually. Never realized that he'd get to the edge, be able to look over at the chasm in front of him. Never dreamed that love would be a choice.

But here it was. A choice. He could deny this potential. He could, he knew, walk away from it.

_"Yeah, if you're a bloody coward," _said the voice in his head.

George gave the voice a mental shove, and continued thinking. If he didn't step away, he was going to love another human being. Not just like her. Not just enjoy her. Not just lick her top to bottom like a lollipop. But love her. And hopefully, convince her to love him.

It was a leap of faith wasn't it? The ultimate leap of faith. It was, he realized, proof that all of his optimism hadn't died 10 years ago. It was proof that even after so much pain, so much darkness, he believed life might be kind.

At that thought, panic began to stir inside his chest. If you love her, she could hurt you... She could leave you... She could die.

George sat in his panic for a moment, and considered stepping away from the edge. He felt that he had been fighting for years now. Had he fought this long, worked this hard to let fear stop him? Was he going to step away from his first big challenge? Was being simpy content good enough? Was it really as good as he could hope for? What about being truly happy? What about love? Wasn't that a goal that was worth a risk? If their roles were reversed, wouldn't Fred take the chance?

The voice inside said, gently this time,_ Mate, she can not hurt you worse than you have already been hurt_.

Clutching that thought to his aching chest, George Weasley closed his eyes...and jumped.

End Chapter 4

AN: Ever been kissed in a way that stops time? That's what's on the horizon for Hermione. (I'm writing two chapters ahead.)

Thank you to all for reading, particularly for those who don't traditionally do the HG/GW thing. I really appreciate your being willing to come on this excursion with me. And great thanks to those who've reviewed. It really keeps my writing furnace full of fuel.


	5. Allies

Chapter 5

"You're serious?" muttered Ron.

George gritted his teeth. Now that he had decided on Hermione, he didn't really consider that Ron had any right to keep them apart. He was having this talk with Ron because he'd rather have his brother's support than not.

"Damned serious." He got up from the chair and began pacing the room. With each step he took, his voice got a little louder. "I'm not looking for a quick shag here, Ron. I really like her. "

If Ron gaped, he couldn't be blamed. His ex-girlfriend and his brother...hadn't seen that one coming. But then Lavender always said he was clueless about this sort of thing. "You are serious. About Hermione." He blew out a large breath of air.

Not that he blamed George; Hermione was a hell of a woman. Way more woman than he'd been able to handle, to tell the truth. Lavender was more his speed, simple, uncomplicated, fun in the sack, perfect for him. But for his brooding, complicated brother? A woman like Hermione might be just the thing. She had a way of getting under your skin, finding out what made you tick that was downright disconcerting. It drove him crazy...but for George? It might be just perfect. She certainly seemed to have him riled up, which was a big improvement over the whole nun of Hazelwood thing. "Would you sit down, already? You're making me twitch."

George sat.

"Well?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "It's all clear with me, Mate...Except, well, I don't suppose I've any right to threaten you not to hurt her, do I?"

"Nope. You've got no high ground there after what you put her through. But you have my word anyway. Hurting her isn't my intention. I'm thinking more along the lines of babies and happily ever after."

"That'll do, then. She deserves it. Chess?"

"Snacks?"

"Mum sent over fresh pasties about an hour ago."

"I'm in."

xxxx

Hermione sat behind her computer at 3W industries and stared blankly at the screen. Technically, as a contractor, she shouldn't have an office here at all. But George had insisted. As with most things George designed, it was a lovely space, full of wood and comfort and sunlight. But it was functional as well. Unlike most pure-bloods, George had no qualms about muggle technology. The sleek Apple computer on her desk was top of the line and had enough firepower to render a full-length animation had she chosen to do so. As a result, Hermione worked here regularly, even when her cases didn't require it.

Not that she was working today. What she was doing was simply sitting here, tapping randomly at keys, surfing the internet, killing time while looking busy. She was burned out. That explained why she was spending so much time thinking about the arms down the hall. Time for her to take some time off, take a vacation. No more inapropriate thoughts about those arms.

The man owning said arms took that moment to stroll into her office. Figures. He always had the damnedest sense of timing. Still, she never got tired of seeing George in a suit...she knew from Ginny that his suits were hand-tailored...and it showed. She shook her head in an effort to clear it.

"Morning, Counselor."

"Morning George. You don't look any worse for wear."

"What can I say? We redheads metabolize alcohol better than you mere mortals."

Hermione snorted and leaned back in her chair. "So, you had a good time, did you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I really did...especially the dancing part. I had completely forgotten how much I used to love that. Which is why I came by. What are you doing tonight?"

Hermione tilted her head. "Well, I should get some work done on the Pernicious Pogo Stick patent. It's due on Friday if we want to get it out by midsummer."

"Could you could put it off for another day?"

"I could. Why?"

"I want you to come dancing tonight."

"Dancing?"

"Like I said, I really enjoyed the dancing, and I was hoping to go again."

Hermione's pulse was running just a tad too fast for nonchalance. She allowed her hair to fall forward over her cheeks, hoping that George wouldn't see her flush. After all, he often invited her to hang out when he and his friends went out. She was certain that was what was going on here...He hadn't intended to make it sound like a date, she was sure.

"Um, okay...but I can't stay too late. I really do need to get some work done. "

George's face broke into a full blown smile that did nothing to calm Hermione's pulse. Had he ever smiled that way at her before?

"Great. Can you meet at my house? At 8?"

Hermione relaxed a bit. If they were meeting at his house, they would undoubtedly be part of a group. She gave her libido a mental chiding. Enough with this. He was her friend, and that was all.

"Sure, I can do that. See you then."

XXXX

"What" screeched a familiar voice, "are you playing at?"

George looked up from his latest bunch of paperwork, to see his gorgeous little sister storming towards him. Like his mum, she was at her best when her temper was high.

"I'm sorry, were you spewing your venom at me, or some other hapless bystander?"

"Did you, or did you not ask Hermione out dancing tonight?"

Damn. There were no secrets in this family. Ron hadn't lasted 48 hours before spilling the beans.

"Ron said he was going to keep this quiet for now."

"Ron? Did he know about this? I'm going to chew his head off too. Hermione asked if I was going out with you guys tonight. Are you playing with her or something?"

At this, George felt his own Irish rising. "Playing with her? What do you mean playing with her? You didn't say anything to her, did you? If you screwed this up I'll kill you."

"No. I mumbled something and came here to rip into you. So what are you on about? Is this some kind of a joke?"

"It's not a joke. It's a date."

Ginny sat down, her face suspicious. "Does she know this is a date?"

George shrugged. "Maybe not. I'm easing her into the idea is all."

"What idea? That you're trying to seduce my best friend? Go tap one of your groupies if you need a shag. Don't mess around with my friend. She's tender hearted. She'll get hurt. "

"No, she won't. I won't let her. Ginny, I'm in love with her."

At that, Ginny's mouth fell open. "You're serious?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?! Yes I'm serious, dammit. And what are you bloody crying for? Do you hate the idea so much?"

Ginny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "You're in love with her?"

George nodded. "I'm not sure how it happened...but I seem to be." He sighed as his little sister ran full-bore into his arms, hitting his chest like heavy bag. She'd run to him that way since she was two, but now it packed a hell of a wallup. His arms closed around her reflexively, and he was concerned to feel her shoulders shaking, like she was struggling to hold back the tears. Then, she let lose, and began to wail. Bewildered, George stroked his hand through her cherry hair. What the hell was going on? When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "You okay Ginnybird? What's going on? Talk to me."

Ginny leaned back and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I've spent the last 10 years hoping that you would, I don't know, find something to tie you to this world. And it looks like maybe you have, and I guess I hadn't realized until you said that just how scared I was that I was going to lose you." She wiped the new tears that were steaming down her cheeks. "You're my favorite brother, you know."

George burrowed his face in Ginny's hair so that she wouldn't see the wetness her words had brought to his own eyes. Her hair smelled so much like Fred's... _only cleaner of course _said the voice in his head. Part of him wanted to lie to her, reassure her that he had never been in that kind of danger. But the truth was more complicated then that, so he decided to ignore the comment, keep it light. "And you're my favorite sister."

Ginny laughed and punched him in the arm, a solid right cross, just like he'd taught her. "I'm your only sister, you wanker."

"Wouldn't matter. I could have a dozen, and you'd still be the best of the lot."

So they hugged again, and wiped each other's faces, and opened butterbeers from George's cunning little fridgie. Once they'd sat for a while, talking of nothings, and regained their balance, George figured it was safe to bring up the topic again. "So, about the Hermione thing...what do you think?

Ginny tilted her head, very much in the way Hermione often did when she was thinking something through. "I think she may not know it yet, but my best friend is about to become the luckiest girl in the world."

"That was the right thing to say, Ginnybird."

She grinned, and dipped her head in acknowlegement. "I learned from the best."

End Chapter Five

AN: There's something magical about the sibling relationship, isn't there? Someone who knows you through and through and still loves you...that's part of what made losing Fred so devastating. But by the same token, George gets a lot of support and love from his two youngest siblings. It's not the same, but that doesn't make it any less potent. What George hasn't realized is that by going to them, he's now got 2 of Hermione's 3 best friends on his side. That's going to help when it comes to courting her!

Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I've particularly enjoyed those of you who've taken the time to share some thoughts on what's working for you. More, please!


	6. Dancing

Chapter six

This is not a date. This is not a date. Hermione chanted this to herself as she selected her best date outfit, the wrap dress that made her waist look small, and revealed just enough breast to let interested parties know there was more to be found. This is not a date, she said, as she put on her dancing shoes, the incredibly expensive, suede-bottomed strappy numbers she and her mum had picked out after a weekend long marathon of watching ballroom on the telly. This is not a date, she repeated, as she smoothed her hair in the horrifically time consuming, but oh-so-flattering muggle way. Not a date, she mumbled, as she selected a pair of dangly earrings that shimmered when she moved. Not a date, as she smoothed lotion on her legs and arms. Not a date, as she curled her eyelashes, and coated her lips with a tinted moisturizer.

She twirled in front of her full length mirror, watched the skirt on her dress spin out in a circle around her, revealing a nice length of trim thigh. Not a date. But, she thought smugly, she certainly looked good enough for one.

The funny thing was, though she knew this wasn't a date, she still felt like it was. A big date, to be specific, judging from the acceleration of her heartrate and the high color on her cheeks. Hermione decided this probably stemmed from how long it had been since the last time she'd had an evening on the town. She should probably get out more if she was taking an innocent invitation from an old friend so seriously.

With that in mind, she gave herself a final nod of approval, grabbed her purse, and apparated to Hazelwood.

XXXX

George Weasley answered the door in his signature crisp shirt and slacks. His eyes twinkled as he looked at Hermione.

_She wore the brown dress...I was hoping for the brown dress._

Aloud, he said, "You look fantastic. Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded.

"It's a bit of a walk, so slip these on so those don't get ruined."

Hermione looked at him quizzically; since she trusted him, she exchanged her heals for a pair of new garden clogs, her size.

When that was done, he took her dancing shoes in one hand, her hand in his other, and led her off the front porch. Gravel crunched underfoot as they navigated through the side yard, and onto the garden path.

It was a clear, bright night, and the air was just a touch cool, as if autumn might arrive any day now. She was tempted, very tempted to quiz him, to find out where they were going, when they were going, who would be meeting them there. But she was so distracted by the sensation of his large warm hand, lightly calloused, which was still enveloping hers, that she couldn't quite get the words out.

George led them down a small hill, to a weathered brown building. "I wanted to show this to you. We finished renovation this week."

"The barn. You finished it?"

"We did. Want to see?"

Though Hermione wasn't much for gymnasiums, she was always interested in George's projects. He had such a keen aesthetic sense that he always managed something surprising.

Inside was a space that was quite simply gorgeous. He'd laid a new floor of wide pine, and it gleamed practically endlessly in the cavernous room. He'd installed broad skylights through which the stars were clearly visible, and the far wall was made entirely of windows and french doors overlooking the valley beneath...it seemed completely open to the night. The entire room was lit by candles, drenching the air with warm light.

"I put the boxing ring and the weights upstairs in the old hay loft. I decided to leave the downstairs open for parties and games...and dancing. What do you think?"

Hermione stepped gingerly onto the pristine floor. "I think it's incredible, George. Is it okay to walk on?"

"Yep. Mum did the protective spell herself, and you know how she is with the domestic stuff. This floor can take anything a pack of Weasleys can dish out. What do you say?" He held out her shoes. "Want to put these on and give the floor a spin?"

And that was how Hermione found herself whirling around an empty dance floor in the arms of George Weasley. She'd have thought it would be awkward, just the two of them dancing alone. But the music was a lively Viennese waltz, and George was a sure partner, and the room was so lovely that she quickly surrendered her misgivings, surrendered to the pleasure of being spun in the arms of a beautiful man.

An hour later, the two were breathless from movement and laughter. Their attempt at salsa had been a disaster. The worse they'd danced together, the more they had laughed. George took Hermione by the hand and led her through the French doors. "Come on, let's get some fresh air."

Outside, still under construction, was a large wooden deck. George steered Hermione over to a small table with two chairs. Hermione fell into the chair gratefully. George laughed. "Why don't you take those shoes off. They look fantastic, but I'd rather you be comfortable. Here, give me those."

Hermione lifted her feet onto his lap, and purred as he massaged them. "Ginny used to pay me for my foot rubs."

"I can see why. Now stop that, or I'm going to fall asleep at the table."

Hermione, now completely at ease, tossed back her entire glass of water. "I had no idea that you could dance that way, George. Did you take lessons?"

"Yeah, we both did. After the Yule ball, we decided that dancing might be a nice advantage with the ladies, you know. So we signed up for Miss Paddingtons in Hogsmead. Kept it real hush hush though. Didn't want word getting around that we'd gone pansy. Fred liked it well enough, but I was the one who really had the knack. I kept at it, even when we were on the run. Course, Miss Paddington wasn't one for Salsa, obviously."

Hermione grinned. "Obviously."

They sat for a while, chatted about the barn, and dancing, and Hogwarts. They wolfed down the plate of cheese and crackers George accio'd for them, and drank several more glasses of water. When the conversation petered out, George rose from the table and extended a hand to Hermione. "Now that you've got those strappy things off, want to give it another whirl?"

Hermione nodded and rose to join him. Only this time, when the music came on, it wasn't a lively waltz or a melodramatic tango. It was a slow, jazzy number with a throaty female vocalist. And this time, instead of holding her in a safe, correct dance position, George gently pulled Hermione in close enough that her breasts brushed his body.

"This alright Hermione?" He asked, looking down at her.

Hermione's wasn't sure how to answer that question. Her pulse had started racing the moment her body had made contact with his. It was getting hard for her to pretend that this wasn't a date, with this music, and the candlelight, and the insane feeling of his body pressed up against hers. And the look on his face, which was date-like in every way. She looked up at him, her eyes vulnerable and uncertain. "George, what's going on here?"

George smiled gently at her and brushed the hair away from her face. "Well, Hermione, what's going on here is that I'm courting you. And I'm trying to go nice and slow with it, so I won't scare you, but I don't want to be nice and slow about it. I want to be very now about it. So you're going to have to forgive me if I want you close to me."

Hermione felt her legs go watery. "But you can't be courting me, George. I'm... well, I'm practically your sister."

George shook his head. "Uh uh. That's where you're wrong. You are not my sister in any way." He pulled her in a little tighter, so that now the entire front of his body was in contact with hers. You definitely don't feel like a sister to me." His face changed, became uncertain. "Do I feel like a brother to you? I mean, if you're not attracted to me..."

Hermione blushed and looked down. "No, that's not the problem."

He tipped her chin up to look at him. "Good, because that would make this a little awkward." With that, he lowered his mouth to hers.

The minute his lips touched hers, Hermione felt a single sharp throb of pleasure shoot up her body. She fell into his lips. They were so full, so soft against her mouth, like velvet. He moved slowly, savoring her, like she was something delicious he wanted to eat in measured bites. She wanted to flow into him, swim his body, twine herself around him like seaweed. Lose herself in that mouth.

George's head was buzzing. The taste of her went right to his head. He was straining with everything he had to keep this kiss gentle, to keep it slow, even though everything in him wanted to scoop her up, brace her against the wall, and plunge into her. When his self restraint could take no more, he broke the kiss.

Hermione's legs wobbled; if George hadn't grabbed her, she may very well have fallen onto the lovely wide-planked floor.

George chuckled, a deep sound of pure male satisfaction. "Well, it doesn't look like chemistry is going to be a problem, does it?"

"George" Hermione put a hand flat on his chest and gently pushed him away. "I'm afraid I'm a little behind here. When did this happen? What changed?"

"Everything changed. Or maybe nothing. Maybe I just noticed what was always there. I'm not too sure on the details. What I do know is that I'm crazy about you. Not just the way you look, which, I must say, is just about perfect, but the way you make me feel, the way your brain works, the way you treat people, the whole package. And I'm rather hoping that I can make you feel the same way about me."

Hermione sat on the stairs behind her, rather ungracefully, and pulled her bare legs up under her dress. As she often did when she was upset, she worried at her lower lip with her teeth, only to find that her lip tasted of him. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and finally gave up. "George, I thought we were just friends. And then tonight.." she drifted off, staring out the windows behind him.

George reached out a hand to help her up. "I've scared you, haven't I?"

"I'm not quite sure that scared is the right word. But I think I'm going to have to go home and think about this, okay?"

George nodded, his face unhappy. This was her choice to make. He tucked his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her further. "But did you have a nice time tonight?"

Hermione nodded and gave a tentative smile. "I did. I really did."

"Well, that's something then, isn't it."

Hermione apparated away, her eyes haunted, her shoes clutched to her heart.

End Chapter 5.

AN: I know...things were going so well, and it's so frustrating to see them fall apart! They'll work it out, of course...but it's going to take some time.

Thanks, again, to my reviewers. You guys rock the planet!


	7. Intermezzo

Chapter Seven

George went straight up to the loft.

He doffed his shirt, transfigured his shoes, and pulled a set of gloves off the wall. A quick version of his usual warmup routine, then, he was ready to let go.

After ten minutes of pounding the heavy bag, George was finally calm enough to resume his normal drills. From that point on, as his body was working, the voice in his head was chatting away in an amused tone.

_"Well, you sure bungled that one, didn't you?"_

"Yeah." He answered aloud, between punches. If one was going to go insane, one should be flamboyant about it.

_"What happened to playing it cool, Mr Insanity? Keeping the evening light and fun? I thought that was the plan." _

"Easy..." punch punch "For you to say. You're dead..."left, right, left, "...you have no..." jab, jab, punch, "...sex drive."

The voice laughed._ "Oh, I get enough of that by sharing yours, Georgie Boy. Still, no harm done, really."_

"How..." right cross, left uppercut "...can you say that?"

_"I can say that, because you didn't pick some wimpy tart to fall in love with. You scared her, but 'Mione's not a coward. She'll come around."_

George, suddenly tired, draped his arms around the bag, and rested his face on its leather.

"I hope you're right."

_"I know I'm right...and so do you. Otherwise, you never would have fallen for her."_

XXXX

Hermione woke the next morning from a night of turbulent dreams. They were mostly about George, although Fred also made an appearance, teasing her about making a mess of things.

Hermione groaned aloud. What a coward she'd been. George had given her a fantastic, magical night, kissed her senseless, and she'd left him vulnerable and with pain-filled eyes. She, Miss "Talk-it-all-through-until-that-horse-is-beaten-good-and-dead" had bolted without a word. Why? Because he had feelings for her? That couldn't be it, because she'd continued talking to him after that particular bombshell. Or because when that man kissed her, her knees had liquefied?

It was time to be honest with herself. She'd been denying it for months, but the fact was, she was so attracted to George that when he got close, her brain ceased to function. When she was near him, she couldn't think straight, couldn't reason.

When he'd kissed her...oh gods how he'd kissed her...her body's response had been so overwhelming that she'd panicked, flat out. She'd reached for rational thought, her safe place, and it had been, quite simply, gone. She feared that had he not pulled back when he did, they would have ended up consecrating that new hardwood floor right there and then.

Not that there was anything wrong with floor sex, but she liked to have a little choice in the matter. She wanted to decide on her partner, not have her hormones make the choice for her.

But she was rational now, wasn't she? She went to her desk, and pulled out a quill and a new parchment.

Pros and Cons to having an affair with George Weasley:

Pros:

1. He wants me...very clear on that point.

2. Sexy as hell. (arms)

3. Sharp as a tack.

4. Doesn't drink much, but funny when he does.

5. Arms (oh, did I say that already?)

6. Kind, and warm, great sense of humor

7. Admirable; a survivor

8. Great dancer

9. Fantastic kisser

10. A loyal friend.

Cons:

1. A good friend

2. My best client

3. Brain goes awol when he's near.

Hermione tapped her quill against her cheek. Numerically, the pros definitely had it. As for the cons, well number 2 was inconsequential. If they decided to date, they could always sever their professional relationship. As a practitioner fluent in both magical and muggle law, Hermione's services were in high demand. She'd miss the outrageous hourly he insisted on paying her, but she could always raise her standard hourly to compensate; she was probably priced undermarket anyway.

As for number 3, well, she supposed there were worse things. While she'd loved Ron whole-heartedly, he'd never made her weak-kneed. He'd been an enthusiastic, fun, but rather self-centered lover. Thus, despite lots of practice, he'd never become overly skilled. Having kissed George only once, she already suspected that was going to be a problem the brothers did not share.

But the first one...there was the sticky point. The thought of losing George's friendship should things go wrong made her nauseous. When had he come to mean so much to her? How on earth did she find herself in this position again? Wasn't she supposed to learn from her mistakes? And it was obvious, with the distance of hindsight, that she and Ron had been a mistake.

They'd been grossly incompatible. She loved to read. He found reading to be tortuous and a little strange. She loved museums and films and poetry. He was utterly immune to culture and aesthetic pursuits. He liked Quidditch. He hated introspection. Time spent alone or silent was anathema to him. He was...just a little...shallow. In short, there was nothing they had in common but Harry. And it hadn't been enough.

George was another story. He loved Quidditch to be sure. But he had a lively, curious intellect. Introspection in spades. An artistic sensibility that shone through in everything he did. He wasn't a huge reader, but he respected her love of reading, and had added several wonderful tomes to her library over the years. As for depth, well, she had a feeling she could swim for years and never reach the bottom of that one.

Perhaps the key wasn't to focus on the fact that it looked like she was once again getting involved with a friend, but to focus upon the ways in which those friends were so very different from each other. Maybe that was the lesson she was meant to learn. After all, she knew that friends often became the most compatible mates. Look at Ginny and Harry...madly in love, and that had started as a school-age friendship. Even her parents had been study pals for over a year before romance had blossomed.

Well, she'd have to meditate on this one a bit...but it was looking like she was going to give the George thing a shot. And why not? Why not go on a date or two, and see how it went. It was a risk, but what wasn't that was worth having?

End Chapter 7

AN: Wow! You guys got pretty steamed up that Hermione left George hanging in the last chapter. I'd better get them back heading in the right direction, or one of my new readers is going to have some kind of convulsion! :-)

Again, thank you for reading and reviewing. I can't tell you how satisfying it is as an author when people really get into the story...even when they don't agree with my lousy choices!


	8. Mimi's Lasagna

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

George sat at his desk, finishing up some work on his latest employee initiative. He wanted his people to love coming to the office. He wanted them to feel, as he did, that their efforts meant something, that they brought people laughter and joy. But he understood that interpretation was difficult to hold on to after a long day of factory work. So he'd begun a program that had become known as "George's Initiatives." These little surprises were sprinkled irregularly through the work year, and always popped up just when morale began to dip.

The last one, a mass apparation to the Louvre for the day, followed by baguettes, wine and cheese on the Rive Gauche, had been universally beloved, which is certainly better than the whole scavenger hunt fiasco. Oh, well, you win some, you lose some. Both had been successful in breaking people of the humdrum and giving them a fresh breath of air. As, he had no doubt, would the Salsa demo and class he'd arranged for next Friday. The band was so good, even reluctant dancers would have a hard time not toe-tapping.

Toe-tapping. He thought for a moment of his own reluctant dancer. How naturally she'd fit in his arms, how they'd moved through space like one body. Then, he'd pushed too hard, and the whole evening had gone up in a poof of smoke.

That had been Tuesday; today was Friday. Aside for the immaculate and complete paperwork for the Pernicious Pogo Stick, he hadn't heard a word from her.

After he'd boxed his way to calmness, George had come to a few realizations about the night in question. They'd had a wonderful time together, exactly the kind of evening he'd envisioned, all the way to the end. And then…well, it could have been far worse. She hadn't said she wasn't interested, had she? She'd even obliquely hinted that she found him attractive. And when they'd kissed…well, as he said, chemistry wasn't going to be a problem.

Hermione just needed convincing, that was all. A long slow seduction, not the jumpy, adolescent sneak attack he'd launched upon her. She needed finesse? He could do that. Hell, that was what she deserved wasn't it? A man who would wait for her. A man who was willing to work for her. A man who could prove that he wanted more than a go at her lush body. He wanted, very much, to be that man.

Which didn't mean he was going to wait forever to get this particular ball rolling. He'd give her one more day to come to him, and then he'd go to her.

Xxxxx

A couple of hours later, there was a tapping at the window behind George's good ear. Tawny, Hermione's owl.

George practically fell out of his chair in his eagerness to open the window. Tawny eyed him suspiciously; she really wasn't a huge fan of sudden motions. She came in the window, but flew rather obstinately, George thought, to the top of his bookcase to perch. She stayed there, out of his reach, and stared at him with baleful orange eyes.

George breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, Tawny," he said, his hands shoved into his pockets. Upset owls did not like to be reminded that humans had hands. "Won't happen again. Won't you come down? Please?"

Somewhat mollified by George's contrite behavior, Tawny glided to the desk, and proffered her leg.

_Dinner at my house? 8 PM_

_--Hermione_

George gave a loud whoop that caused Tawny to shriek and begin frantic zigzags across the room, and brought several startled employees running.

Once he had calmed the frantic bird with an offering of roast beef, and reassured his employees that it was actually good news, he did what he always did when he couldn't contain his excitement…he grabbed his Starspeed Elite and took to the skies.

In another era of his life, he would have gone straight to Fred with the news. Fred had always been his first thought when times got tough, or when life was sweet. Whatever it was, if it was important, he shared it with his twin.

That had been one of the hardest parts about losing Fred: not being able to share the highs and lows of life. That's when he'd started talking to Fred in his head, and had been only marginally surprised to hear the voice answer back.

This time, George was surprised to realize, as he soared over London, that the urge to talk to Fred was…mild. So mild that he didn't talk to him in his head. So mild that the ache of not talking to him didn't even mute his joy. So mild that if he didn't poke at it, he might not even recognize the ache was there.

He'd have to tell Hermione about that.

XXXXXX

George Weasley was coming to her house tonight, and this time, Hermione knew it was a date. A date that she had initiated. A date on her terms. Thus, though part of her wanted to drape herself in something sexy and revealing, she forced herself away from the fancy part of her wardrobe. She was trying to encourage a casual, investigative approach to dating wasn't she? She should set the tone with her wardrobe choice.

She settled on a new moss-green tee shirt, and a well-fitting pair of blue jeans. No jewelry, natural hair, moisturizer instead of makeup. Bare feet, revealing the nice pedicure she'd gotten this afternoon to help herself calm down. Hermione considered the results in the mirror. Perfect; she looked good, but not like she'd put a lot of effort into it.

Her one concession to the sense she had of, well, celebration, was the Lasagna bubbling away in her oven. It was her grandmother's recipe, learned years ago on the day that Hermione had become a woman. It had always been a special meal to her. It was the one she'd made for herself when she'd passed the muggle bar, the one she had prepared for Harry on their first night after Voldemort's defeat. It was not only the most delicious meal in her repetoire, but it was also the most meaningful. It seemed somehow fitting for her first date with George. She'd tried, at first, to come up with an alternative menu, but her mind kept returning to Mimi's Lasagna, until finally she'd capitulated.

At five minutes to 8pm, she heard the "pop" of apparation, outside her front door. Hermione couldn't help but remember a time when he and Fred would have simply appeared in her kitchen, niceties be damned. It was sometimes hard to believe that this elegant man was the ruffian who had smeared honey on her pillow at the Quidditch world cup. Or perhaps that was Fred. She never quite got a full confession for that one.

When the knock didn't immediately come at the front door, Hermione realized that George was waiting for 8pm on the dot. Good manners, and punctual too. Another item for the "Pro" column.

Just knowing that he was standing on the other side of the closed door set Hermione's heart racing. Her memory took that moment to play back the kiss. She relived the sharp surge of pleasure, the way his arms had held her weight so effortlessly.

Hermione shook her head to clear it. This would not do. She sternly talked to her libido. This was not how this evening was going to go.

The knock sounded.

Hermione calmed her breathing, and answered the door.

End Chapter Eight

AN: And they're off! Hopefully the "Lasagna Treatment" will get me out of hot water with the readers who hated how Hermione left him hanging! 

Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I'm walking a 60-mile cancer walk in September, and so I'm spending 10+ hours a week walking right now. Couple that with family and career, and I don't have quite as much writing time as normal.


	9. Taking it Slow

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Gods she was sexy. From her tousled hair all the way down to her bare feet. He'd never been a foot man, but the sight of her aqua toenails was doing strange things to his stomach. Her smile of welcome alone had him squirming more than a little bit.

Seeing her so casually dressed made him glad that he'd gone with jeans himself…it would put her more at ease, let her know that he was going to take things slowly this time. Not that he wanted to go slowly. He wanted to announce his intentions right now. He was as serious about Hermione as a person could be. But she didn't need to know that yet.

In George's family, love at first sight, or love at first date wasn't all that uncommon. Hell, he still remembered the look on Ginny's face the first time she'd laid eyes on Harry Potter. Sure he'd laughed at the time, they'd all laughed seeing her with such stars in her eyes at the age of ten. But despite their teasing, her inner conviction that Harry was the one for her had never wavered. Same with his mum and dad. In his family, once you knew, you knew. And he knew that Hermione was destined to be his wife, the mother of his children. He knew it the way he knew that tomorrow would come, the way he knew if a game would sell, the way he knew that talking to the voice in his head was psychotic. He just…knew.

But she didn't know, he reminded himself. Not yet. Furthermore, his logical, steadfast Hermione was not going to leap into marriage without a lot of thought. He was going to have to earn her heart. His grandmother Weasley used to say that being loved is, in and of itself, irresistible. Love someone hard enough, and, chances were, eventually, they'd love you back.

So, George's grand plan consisted of loving Hermione, subtly at first, and then more openly. Loving her hard and long enough that she couldn't help but fall madly in love with him. Yes, it was a flimsy plan. But it was all he had, and he intended to make it work…even if it meant proceeding with this dating stuff at glacial speed.

Thus, he hadn't brought over flowers…too pushy. He'd settled for a nice Super Tuscan. A prescient choice if the luscious smell in the air was anything to go by.

George handed her the bottle, and gave her a brief hug. It was a bit awkward, but they got through it. As soon as it was over, George inhaled deeply and loudly.

"What on earth" he said, walking towards the kitchen "is that miraculous smell?"

Hermione beamed at him. "What you smell is none other than home-made lasagna; my grandmother's recipe."

George turned to Hermione with a look of amazed ecstasy on his face. "Homemade lasagna?" He fell to one knee, and pleaded, "Marry me now."

Hermione, stern-faced, replied, "Way to keep it light and casual, George."

They stared at each other for two beats before Hermione smirked, and George chuckled, and then they both laughed, feeding upon each other until they were howling, him sprawled on the floor, her gripping on to the counter to keep from falling down.

When they'd settled a bit, and wiped the tears from their eyes, George levered himself to standing, and pulled Hermione into a hug. The awkwardness, he noted, was completely gone.

"I am so sorry that I bollixed the other night up so badly."

Hermione wiped a tear from her cheek. "Yeah? Well, I'm sorry I bolted. Not my finest moment."

George grinned. "Alright, Hermione?"

Hermione grinned back. "Alright, George."

Xxxxx

Equanimity restored, Hermione scooped up a pile of plates and silverware and dumped them in George's arms.

"You," she announced, "set the table. I'll toss the salad."

"I do so love a bossy woman," George said, mirth all over his face.

Hermione winked saucily. "That works well, then, doesn't it?"

The meal flew by, full of easy conversation, lots of giggles, and multiple servings of lasagna.

"Come, on, tell me!" Hermione pleaded.

George leaned back in the chair, a Cheshire grin on his face. "Nope, you'll have to wait until Friday, like everyone else."

"It's not another one of those scavenger hunts, is it? I'm not going on another one of those."

George pouted. "Hey, it wasn't THAT bad!"

"Oh, yeah? Tell that to the two muggles we had to obliviate. They'll probably need therapy."

"The Louvre was nice, wasn't it?"

"That, it most certainly was." She shifted in her chair. "I can't stand it anymore. George, look away, I have to unbutton my jeans."

George nodded seriously. "Normally, I'd make some kind of comment about your dastardly plot to seduce me. But I can't. I'm just glad you went first. How much of that Lasagna did we eat?"

Hermione groaned. "Mimi always told people to wear elastic waistbands when she made this stuff. If you unbutton, I will."

And so they did, both uttering identical sighs of relief. Which, of course, made them both laugh again at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

George leaned forward, his face suddenly serious. "Hermione?"

Hermione sobered. "Yes?"

"About this whole 'taking it slow' thing…"

"Yes…"

"I was wondering, at what point will there be kissing?" George's eyes challenged Hermione's with a flirtatious sparkle.

Hermione snorted her wine, and choked for a solid minute. When she could speak, she flirted right back at George. "I think a good night kiss is customary, even when one is taking it slow."

"I was hoping you would say that. Come here?"

Because he'd made it a question, not a demand, Hermione went over to George's chair, and took his outstretched hand. He gently tugged her down so that she was sitting in his lap.

Despite the rich food and the heavenly wine Hermione felt her pulse began to race. But instead of kissing her, or pulling her tight, George just wrapped his arms around her, and held her. It was more intimate than a kiss, to be held like this. Hermione sighed with pleasure, and as she did, the tension in her body began to evaporate. She felt cared for. She felt sheltered. She felt…safe.

They sat like that, feeling each other's warmth, smelling each other's scent, hearing each other's breathing for a long minute.

In this position it was a simple matter, really, for her to shift her head, find his face with each of her hands, and press her lips against his.

The kiss was lovely. Not overwhelming this time. This was easy and seductive as moonlight. She dipped into his mouth exploring the complex taste of him. There was wine, and lasagna of course, but the deeper, more delicious flavor was him, a taste she hadn't been able to eradicate from her memory despite a week's trying. The more she focused upon that taste, the more she felt a slow building fire in her belly.

When the kiss started, George gave his own sigh of contentment. Holding her, then having her kiss him of her own volition eased something inside him, unfurled some knot of tension he hadn't realized that he carried. Feeling her gradually relax in his arms made him want to melt her with pleasure, feel her drip over him like candle wax.

When the kiss was over, he didn't push for another. Instead, he gently deposited Hermione on her feet, and stood up from his chair.

"I," he said exhaling loudly and running a hand through his hair, "am quitting while I'm ahead. I like the way you kiss, Hermione."

Hermione smiled a knowing smile; it made George's heart summersault inside his chest.

"So, Hermione, about this taking it slow thing…"

"Yes?"

"Is tomorrow too soon to see you again?"

Hermione couldn't help but grin. "Probably so…but I won't tell if you won't."

George answered her with a dazzling smile.

"I really like the way you think, woman. Good night Hermione."

Hermione walked over and kissed George gently on the lips. "Good night, George."

With a pop, he apparated away.

End Chapter Nine

AN: Uh, yes, please. And before you ask, yes these two are headed for lemons. But they won't be harvested for another couple of chapters. Patience, my invisible friends, patience!

 Theolyn


	10. Lesson

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The factory had been transformed. Where workstations had been, there now towered rows of velvet theater seats. The rows were raked so every seat had an unobstructed view of the formal proscenium stage. Of course that meant every worker at 3W had had an unobstructed view of George formally escorting her to her front row seat.

She'd seen speculation, curiosity, and downright hostility among the interested eyes following her progress on George's arm. Historically, there had been 4 female applicants for every male applicant at 3W; that ratio carried through in the worker population. George was a very popular boss, only partially for his progressive employment policies. Thus his display of favoritism towards her did not seem to go over well.

But then the lights dimmed, and a spotlight came up, and Hermione ceased to care what anyone else thought. She found herself riveted by the beautiful couple on stage. The woman was blond, tightly coiffed, blatantly sexy in her revealing dress. The man was dark skinned, and wore an unadorned black costume that clung to musculature like a second skin. He stood like a matador, arrogant, graceful, intensely masculine. He stretched out his lean arm, making it somehow clear that the invitation covered more than a simple dance. She stepped towards him, dragging her feet, and somehow made that gesture about seduction rather than reluctance.

For the next four minutes, the two moved, turned, gyrated like one body. It was the sexiest thing Hermione had ever seen.

Apparently, she wasn't the only person who thought so. When the number ended there was a thunderous ovation. Hermione wasn't even aware of jumping to her feet, until she arrived there.

George was also applauding wildly, but only part of his attention was on the stage. The rest of him was sneaking glances at Hermione, who had watched the performance, enraptured. Where she was concerned, he'd become a keen observer…keen enough to have caught the flush on her cheeks as she watched. Gods, the woman was a mass of contradictions wasn't she? He smiled a delighted grin and kept clapping.

XXX

Try as he might, George was unable to secure Hermione for a partner for any part of the lesson. He'd instructed Alexandrov and Guttierez to bring male students to even up the ratios, but there were still more women than men in the room. And somehow, every time he'd spy Hermione, move in to dance with her, another employee would beg his attention.

Hermione watched with amusement as George was approached by every beautiful witch in the room. Though he was utterly polite and engaging with every partner he had, Hermione could sense his eyes, his attention, his focus upon HER. When his eyes met hers, they pleaded for help. Hermione couldn't help but feel smug. The man that every woman in the room wanted, wanted her.

XXX

"So, George, that went well, didn't it?"

"I rather say it did, Counselor. 'Cept I couldn't get to the gal I wanted to dance with. Care to take a round now?" He waved a hand, conjuring a replay of the evening's music.

Hermione surveyed the empty factory floor. The enchantments on the space were ending, and workbenches were popping up all over the space. "Bit dangerous, don'tcha think?"

George shook his head. "Nonsense. Know this place like the back of my hand. Now, come here girly."

Hermione thought about the stage show, and dragged her foot as she stepped towards George. He shifted his posture, put an arrogant expression on his face, and extended a hand out towards her in invitation.

"Shall we try the combination?"

Hermione nodded.

At first, she was too nervous. She faltered on the right hand turn, and tangled their feet up helplessly. On the second attempt, George, momentarily distracted by the line of Hermione's neck, lost his train of thought and brought them both to a screeching halt. The third try was the charm, and they had it nailed by the fourth repetition. By the fifth time through, Hermione had stopped worrying about the footwork, and had begun to put some hips to it. Once George relaxed into the dance, he was able to hold eye contact with her the entire time.

It was like turning the knob on a furnace. Eyes locked, bodies gyrating, music pounding around them. Hermione felt powerful, feminine, seductive. The message from her body was coming in loud and clear…She wanted this man.

When the music ended, and George lifted her up from the dip he'd held her in, the two of them stood very still, breathing raggedly. Hermione swayed in to him, as if she was going to kiss him. She stopped just short of pressing her lips against his, so close that when she spoke, he felt the sensation of the air touching his own mouth.

"George," she said throatily, "Take me home."

George's eyes rolled closed, and he took a deep breath before opening them.

"Hermione Granger, are you seducing me?"

Hermione chuckled throatily and grinned an evil grin. "I do believe that is my intention, yes."

George blew out another deep breath and took a hesitant step backwards. "Gods, I can't even believe I'm going to say this, but no."

"No?"

"Hermione, believe me, there is not one thing in the world I'd rather be doing than tearing up the sheets with you. Not. One. Thing."

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. "Okay. So what's the problem then?"

"It's just that, well, when we go to bed together, it won't be just sex for me. And I'd really really prefer that it wasn't just sex to you Hermione."

Hermione blinked. "George, well, of course this isn't sex for me. I really really like you."

"But I'm in love with you."

Hermione's hands fell limply to her sides. "You're in love with me."

George nodded. "Yes, I am."

Hermione walked over to a newly reappeared workbench, and sat down on its chair. "As in 'you're a good friend, and I think you're hot and I'd like to take give it a try?'"

George shook his head, kept his eyes locked on hers. "No, that's where you are, 'Mione. I'm in love with you. As in love."

"As in marry me and make babies love?"

George nodded. "That's the one."

Hermione found herself, for the second time in as many weeks, struggling to catch up with George Weasley. Only this time, strangely, she had no urge to run away.

"You see," he said, pacing in front of her, "If the two of us go, take our salsa hormones and spend the night in bed together…and then you cool off and want to go back to casual dating, well, I'm not going to be okay with that."

"Okay, I get that. Although I find it hard to imagine my cooling towards you right now George. I'm wound up tighter than a watch spring."

George grinned, a slow smile that made her heart spin in her chest. "That's the best news I've had all night, counselor. I'd hate to be the only person suffering."

Hermione snorted. "Glad I could alleviate that one for you. Guess I'd better go then. " A mildly bewildered Hermione picked up her briefcase, and turned for the door.

George called out to her, "Hermione."

She turned, and he covered the ground between them with three strides of his long long legs.

He grabbed her by her upper arms, and crushed his mouth to hers. This wasn't the gentle, persuasive kiss he'd been giving her for days, or the seductive one he'd given her on their first date. This was need. This was desire. This, she realized, was his raw emotion poured into her. With a groan, she opened to him, reached for his hair, moved closer. Without either of them noticing it, she climbed up him, wrapped her legs around his waist in her search to get closer.

When George broke the kiss, he did so with a groan of frustration. Hermione sighed before disentangling herself and climbing down.

"What," she asked, shuddering, "was that?"

George, panting, ground out between breaths, "I didn't want you," breath, "to feel…rejected."

Hermione's dark eyes flashed with an emotion George couldn't name, one that was quickly replaced by a suggestive smile.

"I don't feel rejected, George. I feel…very wanted."

XXXX

After Hermione left the room, George collapsed into the chair she had just vacated.

"_That was either bloody brilliant, or the stupidest move I've ever witnessed."_

"Yeah, well, we'll see how long I can stick to it. Another minute of that kiss and I would have been a goner."

"_Hell, another minute of that kiss and I would have been a goner. Wait, too late! I am a goner!"_

"Ha, ha, very funny."

"_Seriously, mate, she'll come around. I think she's halfway in love with you already._

"You think?"

"_Yeah, I do. You know, you're going to have to tell her about me."_

George stared into the distant corner of the workroom. "Yeah. But not yet."

"_No, not yet."_

End Chapter 10

AN: Mmmmm….wonder how Hermione's going to take that news? Thoughts?

I was stuck for a while, but I know where we're headed now. As for your lemons, don't lose hope. You'll get your serving of citrus in the next chapter, my pretties.


	11. A Little Help from her Friends

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Ginny, Harry and Baby Albus were just finishing up a late breakfast when Hermione apparated over. They'd all long been beyond knocking, having made themselves at home at each other's houses years ago. So Hermione's sudden and disheveled appearance raised no great consternation. Hermione placed a kiss on Harry's cheek, ruffled Albus' already unruly hair, and plopped down in the chair next to Ginny.

"Toast?" Asked Harry, pushing his plate towards Hermione.

Hermione accepted a slice, took a bite and then threw it back down on the table.

"George is driving me crazy!"

"Is he?" asked Harry, peering over the Quidditch pages in surprise. "I thought you guys were doing so well."

"We were. Are. Ugh."

Ginny smirked. "What has the wanker done? Put a boggart in your bureau?"

"No, it's nothing like that. That I could handle. No, the problem is, he turned me down. He won't sleep with me! I threw myself at him, and he said no!"

Harry bolted up from his chair. "Ok. That's enough girl time for me." He scooped the rest of his eggs up onto his toast, grabbed Albus, and scooted towards the door. "We men will let you ladies have your privacy."

Ginny giggled as the door swung closed behind them. "For a man who gets as much of it as he does, you'd think he'd handle sex talk a bit better, wouldn't you? Well, no matter. We're better off just girls anyway. So…spill it."

While Hermione poured out her frustration, Ginny listened, inscrutable.

"So," said Hermione as she wound down, "What do you think?"

"I think" Ginny said in a measured voice, "George is doing his very best not to rush you in the emotional department. But you've got to understand what a strain it is for him. You know how I was with Harry. It's like that for us. When we know, we know. Can't change it. Can't forget it. Can only wait for the other person to feel the same way. So, how DO you feel?"

Hermione jumped to her feet, threw her hands in the air and began to pace the room.

"It's just not logical, Ginny. People do not fall in love in two weeks. It's too sudden; they just don't!"

Ginny gave Hermione her best unimpressed stare. Thankfully, she'd learned a thing or two about her cerebral friend over the years.

"Ok, you want to be logical? We'll be logical. First, you didn't answer my question, which I find telling." She raised a hand to ward off Hermione's outrage. "No interruption. My turn. Second, you're right. People don't generally fall in love in two weeks. They do, however, fall in love over 17 years of knowing each other. You have known each other for 17 years right? You did fight a war side-by-side, celebrate together, bury the dead together? That's a whole lot of shared history right there.

"And if that's not enough, people do fall in love when they work together for a year, particularly when that year involves 12 product launches requiring them to spend virtually 24 hours a day together for weeks at a time. If you think about it, it's not sudden at all. Sounds actually pretty gradual. Like something that happened even thought the parties involved had scar tissue on their hearts from dead siblings and from being dumped by their lovable but idiotic best friend. Seems to me like something so gradual that one of the parties hasn't even caught on yet."

Hermione grabbed the momentary pause in Ginny's diatribe. "Who are we talking about here?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You know damn well who we're talking about. I return to logic. Item three: Hermione, did you find George attractive in school?"

Hermione, stunned by the change in the conversation, shrugged. "I guess so. Not really. Never really gave it much thought though. He was too annoying then to really get into."

Ginny nodded, as if Hermione had said something brilliant. "Right. So you think he's attractive now?"

"You know I do," Hermione said, petulantly, " I've told you that."

"Bear with me here. Do you find him a little attractive, like 'Hmmmm…. That might be interesting?'"

Hermione groaned in despair. "No!"

"Medium attractive, as in 'wow. He's cute. I hope he'll make a move soon?'"

"Where are you going with this?"

"Quit stalling and answer the question. Medium attractive?"

"No."

"Really attractive, like 'I'll go interrupt my friends' breakfast because I got turned down and I couldn't sleep last night because I'm so turned on that I'm a rumbling volcano?"

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. "Yeah, that's the one."

Ginny, who was enjoying herself thoroughly, nodded. "Thought so. Ever been so worked up about a man?"

"No."

"Ever been in love before?"

"I thought, I had."

"Irrelevant. Yes or no."

"No, I guess."

"Then let me clue you in a little about your sex drive. Men are simple creatures. For the most part, they fall in love with women they find attractive. Women don't generally work that way. We put the horse in FRONT of the cart. We become attracted to the man we love. Which is why you didn't think he was particularly yummy then, but you do now. When you're near George, does your whole body get sensitized, like the whole thing is an erogenous zone?"

Hermione, face still hidden in her hands, simply nodded. She was starting to feel a little dizzied by Ginny's interrogation.

"And when he first kissed you?"

Hermione burrowed deeper into her hands. "When he first kissed me, I, well, I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I had a little orgasm."

"You did?" Ginny sat down in amazement. "Hermione, that's, well, wow!'

"Wow? More like terrifying. It was like zero to sixty in 1 second."

Ginny considered that. "Well, I can see that, I guess, but wow. No wonder you ran." Ginny stared at Hermione with awe and reverence. "I say again, Wow."

Hermione nodded miserably. "Yeah."

Ginny shook her head to clear it, and resumed her attack. "We will discuss this again later, because I want details…but for now, next question: When you're not trying frantically to hump his leg…"

Hermione jumped to her feet and shouted, "I do not try to hump his leg, Please!"

"It's a metaphor, of course, and just between us, so simmer down. When you're not trying to seduce him, do you enjoy your time with him?"

Hermione thought about it. Thought about the warmth of his company, the easy rhythm of their banter, the surprising depth of their conversations, the outrageous laughter, the easy calm of their silences. And as she thought of these things, she finally began to see Ginny's point. She didn't need to fall in love with George Weasley. She was already there. Had probably loved him for a good long while. Which was why she'd been avoiding touching him all spring. Which was why she used to apparate to the farm and watch him drink tea in the garden. Which was why she noticed when he was fighting memories and when he was at peace. Which was why his kiss had the power to knock her hormonal socks off. She'd been making excuses to be with him for months, because, well, he was the person she wanted to be with.

Hermione took a deep breath, and felt her world shift into place. "I'd rather be with George," she said, more to herself than to Ginny, "Than anyone else in the world."

Ginny smiled triumphantly. "Then your torment is at an end, my friend. You love him. Go tell him that so that the shagging can begin!"

Hermione looked at her friend for a moment, and burst out laughing. "Ginny, you are crazy."

"Well, yes, I am crazy, but that doesn't make me any less right!"

Hermione ran to Ginny and wrapped her slight frame in a hug.

"No, it doesn't make you any less right. How long have you known?"

"Just a few weeks really. I was too busy with Albus to pay much attention before then. But then George told me he was in love with you, so I started watching, and, man, girl, you have got it bad. It's rather hard to miss once you're paying attention."

Hermione looked at her friend with clear eyes. "I can see that now. I guess I just needed someone to help me work it through. Thank you for being exactly what I needed."

"After this conversation, George is going to owe me big time."

A voice from outside the room cried, "Has she figured it out? Is it safe in there yet?"

Ginny cackled, "Come in, ya numbskull."

Harry peaked his head in the door. "You're not going to talk about menstruation or episiotomies or anything are you? Cause we can always grab breakfast at the Burrow."

Hermione guffawed, "Well, we were going to talk about feminine itching, but we can postpone that till another time. Come in and get your breakfast, boys."

End Chapter 11

AN: I know I promised lemons…but this short scene became a long scene. And the one after this is really important, and I suspect that it too may end up as a chapter in its own right. So it might be another two posts before citrusville. I'm so sorry! But Hermione really needed some help figuring things out, and then George needs to do some thinking before the lemons can be really good, ya know? Forgive me? Please?

Obsequiously yours,

Theolyn


	12. Freight Trains

AN: STOP! For some reason only 1/3 of chapter 11 posted last night. Please go back and read it again. Thanks! Theolyn.

Chapter 12

What the hell had he been thinking?

George gently bounced his forehead on the surface of his desk. He'd turned her down. The woman he'd been dreaming about every night. The woman who haunted his every waking moment. The woman he loved. He'd turned her down. What kind of a dunderhead was he?!

The voice in his head snickered audibly.

George grimaced and replied, "I think you're enjoying this!"

"_Damn straight I'm enjoying it. You have been moping about for the better part of ten years now. Boring! Now at least we get some excitement. Romantic drama. This is good stuff!"_

George groaned. "You wouldn't say that if it was your willy that was missing out."

"_Exactly! Haven't got one anymore, so I've got a bit of perspective on it all. Perk of being dead."_

"Well, it's good to know there are perks."

"_Sure there are perks, damned good ones too."_

"Yeah, like what?"

"_Can't tell you that. You gotta belong to the club."_

"Well I'll pass on that for now."

"_Yeah, I know. "_

"What?"

"_See, I know a lot of stuff. I know you're going to die a wealthy old sod. I know that after Hermione retires from practice she's going to lead a revolution in the Wizengamot, you'll be cheering her on, of course. Because another thing I know is that you and 'Mione are heading for each other like freight trains on the same track. These little delays that are making you crazy, they're nothing. A moment's distraction in a lifetime together."_

"I'm going to get a lifetime with her?"

"_Yeah, the whole happy ending. Once you hit…boom! Everything is going to change. Two of you are going to be tighter than two pumpkins in a patch. Then, you'll have her to natter to, and you won't need me anymore."_

George bolted upright, the dreamy smile evaporating from his face. "Well, that's bullocks. I'm always going to need you."

"_No you won't, mate. See, here's the thing. I'm not really here. So I'm not your present. I'm your childhood, your adolescence, your past. Hermione…well, she's your future. Once you have her, you won't need ghosty old me hanging about."_

George felt tears sting his eyes. He knew the whole hearing voices was crazy, but he couldn't imagine his life without that voice a thought away.

"I don't like you talking like that. You can't go. I need you. I'll always need you."

The voice in his head gentled.

"_No, mate. You may want me around, you always were a little soft in the head that way. And you'll always love me. And I'll always love you, now, won't I? But need me? No. No one really needs another person. Life goes on. No matter how much you love someone, how much you wish they were with you, life has got to go on. And hey, my life goes on too. Frankly, I have better things to do than sit around in your boring, holy head."_

George let the tears roll down his cheeks, unabashed. "That's rubbish."

"_No, that's life."_

"Don't go, Fred. Don't leave me again."

"_We'll see, mate, we'll see."_

End Chapter 12

AN: Poor George. It's never easy to move on, is it? At least, not when you really love someone. But growing up means letting go, and George has one last step to take.

As for this chapter, yeah, it's a short one, but an important one to our story. I decided to go ahead and post it so I have a nice clean slate to write the scene were our heroes finally get busy!

And special thanks to all of you who reviewed…you really do keep me going. And Twinsie, I haven't forgotten your need for citrus!

More Soon!

Theolyn


	13. Alive

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

When Hermione arrived at Hazelwood, she apparated into a world of chaos. There were 3 young Weasleys running around an effigy of Fenir Greyback, shooting mock spells from 3W Junior wands (still in the prototype stage). There was another Weasley in what was obviously supposed to be muggle disguise, pretending to use a cell phone. There were two blond Veela children on the couch dribbling what appeared to be chocolate pudding onto the beige upholstery. There was another redhead, in the corner, in a wet robe, doing a time out. And there was George, looking tired and worn, sitting in an armchair in the middle of the mayhem.

"Hermione?" he said, in a weak voice, "Are you real? Or just a product of my fevered imagination?"

Hermione laughed, "Yeah, I'm real. What the hell is going on here?"

"Date night."

"Oh. I hadn't realized that Bill had this many kids."

"Several of my siblings got on the bandwagon, even Bill and Fleur. Add the veelas in, and then all the redheads step up the volume to show off, and it's monstrous. But the final straw was this one." He pointed an accusing finger at the kid in the corner. "Titus. Percy's kid. Ironic. Mr. Goody two-shoes ended up with the kid that's wore than Fred and me put together. Caught him stuffing grandma's latest jumper down the loo…and flushing."

Hermione giggled, and ran a hand across George's forehead. Now that she was this close, she could see that something else was up, something more than just a stressful day with the nephews and nieces.

"What is it, George? Is it Fred?"

"You know, you're downright spooky when you do that. Yeah, it is Fred. It's been a pretty hard say."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

George shrugged his shoulders. "I can't go there right now. I have to get through this evening first. But I would really really like it if you could stay with me. Stay with me Hermione. Will you?"

Hermione sat down on the arm of George's chair and kissed his forehead. "You know I will."

XXXX

Several hours later, in a lull created while all the small humans were busily scarfing down great plates of spaghetti, George turned to Hermione.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Not that I'm not grateful, but I thought you had a meeting for the Professional Witches Association tonight."

"I did, but Marlene Pocci is speaking, and I've seen her so many times I could perform her speech on gender equality from memory. I had something I wanted to tell you, and I decided to come here instead."

George's face, which had cleared dramatically in the hours since Hermione's arrival, furrowed again. "Are you okay?"

He looked at Hermione, really looked at her, and became instantly concerned. "You're nervous. Why are you nervous? You don't have to be nervous with me. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

Hermione blew out a deep breath. When she'd envisioned telling George she loved him, she'd pictured it somewhere romantic, music playing, candlelight glowing. She hadn't pictured making her announcement in a brightly lit kitchen, surrounded with the sound of children slurping noodles. She considered postponing, but one look in George's eyes had her moving forward.

"I came here, George, to tell you that I love you."

George froze. He stayed utterly still, as if petrified, until his eyes began to mist over. Then, he reached his hands to either side of her face and drew her towards him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "Could you repeat that?"

Hermione, utterly unaware of 7 pairs of eyes watching in fascination, smiled. "I…Love…You."

George let out a mighty whoop and scooped Hermione up, twirling her around and around. They spun, laughing, which enticed the children to leave their bowls and spin around the two of them like planets around a star. Then, when the spinning was finished, and everyone collapsed down to the floor in a big pile of spaghetti-stained bodies, and George's hand somehow found Hermione's in the crush, she realized that maybe there were better ways to tell someone you loved them than music and candlelight. Maybe a pile of sauce-covered children was the absolutely perfect way to go.

XXX

The rest of the evening was torture. A brief kiss here, a stolen embrace there. She knew that she could touch George ANYWHERE if only they could get some privacy…not being able to get any privacy was maddening.

At length, the last parent arrived (Fleur, 40 minutes late, as usual), and floo'd away with her children in tow, leaving George and Hermione blessedly alone.

They stared at each other from across the sitting room.

"I take it," George said, from his position by the door, " that we've completed the 'taking it slow' portion of this relationship?"

Hermione grinned. "Gods, I hope so."

In two seconds, they were at each other.

Hermione went straight for the buttons on George's shirt. She wrestled with them for a moment, before wailing in frustration. "Shirt off. Now!"

George, a look of amused pleasure on his face, pulled shirt and tee shirt over his head, leaving his chest bare for Hermione. Hermione touched his skin reverently. So beautiful. The light sprinkling of hair at its very center was a marvel of texture against the side of her face as she rubbed it against him. His skin was warm, smelled vaguely of sweet spices, almost like cinnamon. Delicious. She began leaving slow kisses all over his chest, while George, eyes closed, reveled in the sensation.

"You know," said Hermione, as she began to nibble down his shoulder, "I've had fantasies about these arms."

George, his eyes barely open, leaned in to smell her. "Really? And what were my arms doing to you at the time?"

Hermione, catching her breath as George ran his mouth down her windpipe, "Uh, everything."

"Specifics, please, Miss Granger? Were they doing this? Or this? Or maybe this?"

The last move pulled Hermione's lower half into contact with George's. She hummed with pleasure. "Um, they were more, aesthetic fantasies, but I like that last move."

"How about this one?" He said, and lifted her into his arms.

Hermione squeaked involuntarily. "Damn, you're tall. I'm a mile off the ground. As long as our next stop is the bedroom, I'm happy."

"No bedroom. I want our first time to be somewhere special."

And so, he grabbed a blanket and a pillow from a closet, and still holding her against his chest with his other arm, carried her out of the house and into the garden.

XXXX

They spread out the blanket in the shelter of the willow. To Hermione, it felt holy, like a chapel. A great room of living greenery, completely private, but ripe with the perfume of the garden air. It was gorgeous, outrageously romantic.

Hermione and George stood together in the dark, hands entwined.

"Hermione Granger. I love you."

"George Weasley. I love you too."

"Yeah?" He grinned. "Prove it."

Hermione smiled, took one step backwards, and let her dress pool around her ankles. Naked save for her delicate panties, she stood before him utterly unashamed. "My pleasure."

George looked at her and shook his head. "Oh, no, Hermione." His eyes roamed over her, dark with desire, "Believe me, the pleasure is mine. Mine."

They lunged for each other. Their mouths crashed together, tongues tasting, thrusting. Naked skin against naked skin. Their hands poured over each other relentlessly seeking the others secrets. Their bodies sought contact at every surface. His mouth retreated from hers, journeyed over her neck, grazed the contour of her breast. Her head tilted back helplessly as he began gently pulling on her nipple. Hermione groaned, clutched his back, gripped into his muscles as he suckled her.

George found himself fighting for control. He wanted all of her, and he wanted all of her now. He wanted to have her glorious breast in his mouth forever, but there were so many things he wanted to feel, smell, touch. And even though his brain knew they had all the time in the world, his body was urgent, burning, unwilling to reason.

For her part, Hermione was flying. Her entire body was throbbing. She could map every place that he had touched. And she knew intimately every inch he hadn't contacted. Those areas ached as if neglected for months, not minutes. They cried out to be claimed by him, to be bit and kissed, licked and rubbed. She was gone, lost in want and need. She barely noticed when George fell to his knees before her.

She did notice when his face made contact with her belly. And she definitely noticed when his fingers hooked on the edge of her panties. The sensation of his hand brushing between her thighs made Hermione's knees buckle.

"Uh uh, Hermione." He said, his voice rough as gravel, "Stand. I want you to stand." And so she did, even as his mouth hovered over her, as his hands traced their way around her buttocks. She stood, swaying in the cool night air even when his lips closed over her. She stood, somehow, even when his tongue parted her and began to taste her rhythmically. She stood, even as her body flooded with sensation. The cool air on her skin, the burning heat of his mouth on her, and the fading warmth where his hands had been. She stood until the first climax ripped through her. As it faded, she slid to the blanket. He held her there, clasped to the warmth of his chest as she slowly returned to her body.

"I can't…feel my fingers." She said, with an awed chuckle, and snuggled closer.

George smiled and kissed her forehead. "That's okay, it's not your fingers I want to be feeling things."

"Yeah?" Hermione lifted her head to look into his eyes. "But I'm going to need them…to do this," she said, dragging her hand down his chest and to the waistband of his pants. "And this" she said, tugging open the fly. "And this" she said, sliding the fabric up and over his straining erection. A small amount of shimmying later, the jeans joined Hermione's forgotten dress.

George rose to his elbows to reach for her. Hermione firmly pushed him back down onto the ground.

In the eternal moment before Hermione slid him inside of her, George had a flash of insight. For the first time in ten long years, he felt alive. He was aching with need, throbbing with it, but he was relentlessly, painfully, gloriously alive. This magnificent woman was his. He was the luckiest bastard in the world, he thought. And then Hermione lowered herself on to him, and George ceased to think at all.

XXXXX

End Chapter 13

AN: It was a hot day over here, so I figured you guys needed some lemonade. Enjoy!

Oh, and for those of you who submitted specific requests, there will be more lemonade later on.


	14. Family

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

George awoke in his bed just before dawn, Hermione's warm back spooned up to his front. It was incredibly tempting, but given that their last coupling had occurred less than two hours ago, he decided to ease away from her warmth rather than into it. He hadn't really realized he was capable of recovering five times in a single night, and he wasn't quite sure he had another go in him, no matter how willing his spirit was.

George went to the bathroom to take care of his bladder. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and almost laughed. He was a mess. He had leaves and twigs in his hair, dirt under his fingernails (the result of clutching reflexively at the ground when Hermione had taken him into her mouth), and though he couldn't see it, he could feel their joint bodily products covering much of the lower half of his body. Shower. Now.

Once he adjusted to the heat, the water felt delicious on his aching muscles. Some of the things they'd done last night, well, let's just say that it's a good thing he kept himself fit. He dunked his face into the water and let out a sigh of contentment.

"_Not bad, lover boy. Not bad."_

George grimaced, and replied silently.

"_I'm glad you approve. Enjoyed yourself, did you?"_

"_Well, it's better than a hole in the head, that's for certain."_

"_Ha, ha, very funny."_

"_Wonder how Hermione would feel, knowing she got a twofer last night…don't you think you should tell her?"_

"_I will, I will. But not today. No dead people today, okay?"_

At that moment, George heard the shower door open, felt Hermione slide into the shower with him.

"Well, sleeping beauty awakens!"

"Mmmmm….kiss?"

And so, he lowered his head, met hers for a long, slow kiss beneath the spray, and felt his body respond as if it had been days, not hours since the last time they'd mated.

"You sore?" he asked, when they came up for air.

Hermione nodded, and reached for the soap. "Pretty much everywhere. What the hell did you do to me?"

"What did I do to you? Counselor, I believe that the appropriate question would be what didn't we do to each other. Look at this one."

Hermione gasped. "Did I do that? I bit you that hard?'

George reached for her. "Worth every ache and pain. Here, let me do that for you."

George took the soap into his hands, and spread it gently over the surface of Hermione's body. He used the exercise to take stock of what areas were particularly sore, and which were still available for his amorous attention. By the time Hermione slipped a soapy hand between his legs, he was well prepared for the happy side effects.

XXXX

They took their breakfast at the table in the garden. Hermione smiled fondly at the willow. It was now officially her favorite tree.

Her gauzy bubble of contentment popped when Molly Weasley walked in from the back door.

"Now George, I've…oh, Hermione, dear. How lovely. You and George working late last night?"

George looked at Hermione with a broad grin on his face. "You could say that, Mum."

"I could?" She looked at the two of them with keen eyes, and her face exploded into a smile. "Well then, isn't that nice. Hermione dear, I'm so pleased. Here, both of you, some scones I baked this morning. Now, I'll pop away so the two of you can have your privacy."

After she'd gone, Hermione turned to George. "What just happened there?"

George smiled, and poured out the tea. "Well, Mum came by to reward me for sitting for the evil hoard last night, and discovered the two of us looking very sated at an early morning breakfast. After some initial confusion, she came to the correct assumption that we'd spent the evening shagging like wild ferrets, which pleased her very much, as she'd begun to despair from my ever contributing to the grandchild pool."

"Wow. That's dizzying."

"Yep, that's my family. They'll be planning the wedding by noon. Which brings me to a question. When you said you loved me last night, does that mean you're signing up for the whole package?"

Hermione smiled and sipped her tea. "George Weasley, is that the world's lamest marriage proposal?"

George, looking suddenly sheepish, nodded. "It does appear to be, doesn't it? I could try it again if it increases my chances of success. Or we could wait an unspecified length of time, and then I could spring it on you, like a surprise."

"I must be crazy in love with you, George, because neither of those options hold much appeal. Yes, I signed up for the whole package."

George sighed. "Good. That is so very good."

End Chapter 14

AN: Short, but sweet. Marriage isn't something that you do, it's something that grows between to people over time. And that's exactly what has happened between these two. No rings or big parties necessary. But this is not the end of the story...not quite yet, anyway.

Thank you thank you thank you to all of you for reviewing. It means so much to me.

Theolyn


	15. Survival

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Hermione was back in her grandmother's old house, the one that was bulldozed when she was twelve to make room for a Cineplex. The house was full of strange witches and wizards in horrific muggle garb, and everyone was eagerly watching the Quidditch world cup on television. For some reason, she was baking tuna cookies, and serving them with tequila spiked pumpkin juice; even in the dream it seemed unappetizing, but it was, she was sure, what she was supposed to be doing.

On the television, the cannons scored a goal, leading to an uproar from the assembly of strangers. Somehow, even over the sounds of cheering, Hermione heard the knock at her door. She thought, at first, with a happy thud of her heart, that George had arrived to join the party. But then she looked in his eyes, and knew in a flash that it was not George, but Fred who stood on the other side of the door.

"Fred?"

"Nice going 'Mione. Not even my Mum gets it right as often as you do."

"Oh, my gods, Fred," she said, throwing her arms around him. "It's so good to see you! I have so much to tell you. Come in," said Hermione, gesturing to the scene behind her, which, strangely, had frozen like someone had pressed the pause button.

Fred smiled. "I'm not allowed, though those cookies smell delectable. But that's not what I'm here for. Listen."

Hermione listened, and heard the sound of whimpering in the other room. Hermione turned to Fred, intending to ask him a question, but found that looking into his eyes made her rather dizzy.

"He needs you, Hermione. Wake up."

Hermione jerked awake. Beside her, George was whimpering and soaked with sweat. Hermione reached for him, gently called his name.

"George, love, it's okay. You can wake up now."

George moaned and twisted his head to the side.

"George!" She tried, more loudly, "Honey, you need to wake up."

George thrashed again. "No! Fred!" he screamed, bolting upright in bed. He looked around the room in terror, saw Hermione, froze for a second…and crumbled.

How many times had he cried for Fred? Hundreds of times? Thousands? Safe in Hermione's arms he howled out his grief. "I was there. I saw it…I saw it all over again. I watched it in slow motion. I watched him die. I watched my brother die again. I reached for him, I reached for him…I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't strong enough. Even knowing what was going to happen, I couldn't stop it. I lost him all over again, Hermione. I lost him all over again. "

Hermione held his head to her chest as he cried. She was rocking him, murmuring nonsense words, holding him as tightly as she could. Her own tears flowed down her face unheeded. She'd always known the well of grief was there. Had always felt it. But to see it, to hold it, was something entirely different. It humbled and amazed her to know that he could feel such pain and go on living.

And so, she held him, until his tears were gone, and his sobs were empty.

When he was still in her arms, she summoned a glass of water from the bedside table.

"Drink this, love."

George complied. He drained the glass, and wiped his face with a corner of the sheet. He took a deep breath in an effort to get his breathing under control. He sat up, and looked at Hermione with haunted eyes. "I'm not okay, Hermione. Everyone thinks I'm fine. And I let them think that, but something is broken inside of me. And it's never going to be whole again."

"George. Nothing is broken inside of you. You had a nightmare. All of us have them still. It's normal."

"Yeah? And do you wake up screaming, and sob uncontrollably for an hour?"

"I don't…but I know Harry does. Ginny says sometimes it takes him hours to recover from the nightmares. Do you think he's broken? Is there something wrong with him?"

George was instantly outraged. "That's different. There is nothing wrong with him. Harry is not broken."

Hermione looked at him calmly. "And how is he different?"

"Because Harry doesn't hear bloody voices in his head, that's why."

Hermione looked decidedly unimpressed. "Voices?"

"Well, not voices. Voice. I talk to Fred in my head."

"Well, of course you do. He was your twin."

"But Hermione…He answers back."

"George, if you're trying to scare me off, it isn't going to work. I don't care if you have the Vienna boy's choir in your head. I'm sticking."

Gorge chuckled wearily. "You can't tell me talking to my dead brother in my head is normal."

Hermione threw her hands up in the air. "George, your twin was murdered in front of you! What part of that is normal? Who's to say that this isn't a normal response to that level of trauma? Where's the book, huh? Show me the book that describes what a normal reaction to that is!"

George looked at Hermione with confusion "You don't think that talking to Fred in my head is psychotic?"

"George, look at me. Will you tell me something honestly? How close did we come to losing you that first year? How close?"

It was a question he'd been asked before, and which he'd always sidestepped. But he couldn't sidestep Hermione, not if he wanted to have any kind of honesty between them. He drooped his head down into his hands. "Close. Really close."

Hermione swallowed down her nausea. When she could speak again, she did so in a gentle voice. "Was that when the voice started answering back?"

George nodded, but kept his head in his hands.

"So maybe some part of your subconscious, some part that didn't want to die stepped forward, took on he persona of Fred out of self preservation. Did it to keep you alive. Does that sound crazy to you? That doesn't sound crazy to me…it sounds healthy. It sounds like even in your darkest moment, you weren't ready to give up. Even when you thought you were ready to throw in the towel, you kept on fighting. Personally, I don't give a rat's ass where the voice is from. I'm just grateful that it helped you through it."

George looked up at Hermione. "Okay. Maybe it is part of my subconscious that is answering back, I certainly knew Fred well enough to supply what he might say in any situation. But Hermione, it's not just the voice…he feels, well, he feels real."

Hermione nodded. "There's another possibility, you know. What if it is Fred? What if, somehow, he knew you were in trouble, and he came to you, stayed with you to help you through? I know how felt about you…if there was a way for him to stay with you, he would find it."

George snorted. "First thing the voice ever told me was that if I offed myself he would never forgive me. I had the note written. The elixir prepared. And he kept nattering at me that I would be a wanker and a coward and that he'd be ashamed to call me his brother if I took the damned stuff." George's smile was bittersweet with affection "He was such a stubborn bastard. I never could win against him." His eyes welled up with tears again. "Gods, Hermione. It hurts so much."

Hermione smiled sadly and reached for George's hand, "Yeah? Sounds utterly, completely normal to me."

She pulled him over and into her lap, where she held him for a long time.

End Chapter 15

AN: George has just experienced a STUG, a sudden, temporary upwelling of grief, an utterly normal, albeit painful feature of a normal grief process. Though they become less frequent as the years pass, they can be outrageously intense, even decades after the loss. He's very lucky to have someone as understanding and intuitive as Hermione to normalize it for him. Our culture is so judgmental and misinformed about grief that very few people are so lucky.

I hope this chapter wasn't too difficult for you guys. I didn't intend it at first, but as the chapters progressed, I felt pretty strongly that it needed to be this way. Hermione couldn't be the right woman for George if she wasn't up to handling his grief.

I offer you my thanks for sticking with the story, even when it gets rough. Theolyn


	16. Goodbye

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The day after a crying jag was always a little hard. His heart felt sore, like a muscle that had been overused and needed to rest. It wasn't terrible. But it was there. It usually meant an exauhsting day, pretending to feel normal when he really didn't. Only this time, he hadn't had to hide how he was feeling. He and Hermione had gone through it together. She had expected that he'd be tender the next day. That simple understanding had made the whole thing just a little bit easier.

George took a few days off, and Hermione flexed her schedule, and the two of them spent the next few days in gentle companionship. They slept late, made love in the afternoon, cooked meals together, and stayed up late watching muggle movies. And though his heart was sore, George was aware of being profoundly, completely happy.

XXXX

True to his prediction, Molly had indeed begun preparations for the wedding.

"You're kidding! George, I assumed you were joking!"

"Hermione, I never joke where Mum is concerned. At least she hasn't actually picked the location and date like she did for Ron. Lavender nearly passed out!"

Hermione smiled. "Good times. Good times. Really George, I just want to be married here in our garden. The sooner the better."

George leaned back in his chair, crossing his boots in front of him. "That's fine by me. Next weekend?"

Hermione chuckled. "My mom is going to have an absolute conniption. I told her it would be soon…but I don't think she realized just HOW soon."

"It's a date then?"

"It's a date."

"Hermione? I've been meaning to ask you. Do you feel strange at all, about the idea that Fred is in my head? I mean, the fact that when I'm with you, he is too?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "You know? I don't. He's always been a part of you anyway. As far as I'm concerned, when I take you to be my husband, I take both of you." She wiggled her eyebrows, "I find the idea pleasantly kinky, actually."

George laughed out loud. "Damn, I love you woman."

XXXX

The ceremony took place in the garden, under the shade of the willow tree. Mum cried, but then, she cried at every wedding. Hermione looked resplendent in her simple white dress. Of course, since the comment about marrying him too, he'd been so damned fond of her he would have thought she was gorgeous in a flour sack. If he wasn't dead, he'd give George a run for his money with that one.

And George? He was a handsome son of a bitch, wasn't he?. He looked like a movie hero, all dressed up in his monkey suit. And he was happy. Really happy.

It was time for him to go.

XXXX

In the dream, George was working on a tree house for the redheaded hoard. He had a nail in his mouth and a hammer in his hand, and he was damned proud of what he was building. He placed the next nail, and pounded it in with sure, measured strokes. Then he put down the tool.

"I know you're here. I can feel you."

George turned around, and there was Fred, leaning insolently against the tree.

"Saw you tied the knot today."

"Knew you'd be there. Did you see mum wailing?"

"Well she had to put on a good show. You're the last one she gets to marry off."

George looked sad. "I'm sorry about that. I really wish you'd gotten a chance. You and Angelina, tie the knot. Make pretty brown babies."

Fred smiled. "Don't worry about me, mate. I had a good run. Died a damn war hero. Do you know that witches who didn't even know me weep by my graveside? How wicked is that?'

George smiled. "Wicked."

"Besides," Fred said, "I got to hang out in your head. I got to feel what you felt. Feel what its like to make it with a woman you really love. Beats the hell out of doing war groupies, doesn't it?"

"Sure does."

"Are you boys talking about George's sordid past?" Dressed in tattered jeans a stained tee shirt, and a hammer holster, Hermione climbed up and joined the boys on the platform. "I love those stories. Hey Fred. Here to pitch in?"

"Naw…I'll leave the building to you guys. It's time for me to go now." He turned to George. "You're going to be okay, you know."

George sighed. "I know. But I don't have to like it."

"No. You don't have to like it." He stepped forward as if to hug him, but pivoted away at the last minute. "First, let me get a hug from my new sister in law." Hermione walked into his arms and squeezed.

"You gonna take care of my brother?"

"You know that I will." Hermione stepped back, considered, placed her hands on each side of his face, and pressed her lips firmly against his.

"Hey!" said George, without heat, "Mine!"

Hermione winked at George, then turned back to Fred. "Thank you, Fred. Thank you for my husband's life."

Fred smiled. "Thank you for the kiss. It's good to go out in style."

He turned back to his brother. "I am going to miss the hell out of you."

"Yeah. Me too."

They embraced. Cried a little. Stepped apart.

"You are a handsome bastard, aren't you?"

In unison, they said, "Why yes, we are." And laughed.

"Take care of you."

"Take care of you.

Again, in unison, "I love you."

Fred stepped away, made a flourish with his hands. "Now pay attention, dear friends, I'm about to make my grand exit."

Fred stretched his arms upwards, grinned broadly, and disappeared.

XXXX

George awoke in his own bed.

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked at him, her face wet. "He's gone then?"

George called out in his brain. Called again. Waited. A tear slipped down his cheek. "Yeah, he's gone."

Hermione looked at George quizzically. "You okay?"

"You know? I think I am."

End Chapter 16

AN: Sometimes things can be painful, and still be right. It was time for our brothers to be parted. And yes, both of them are going to be just fine in their new lives.

I believe that the structure of our story is now complete. All we need now is an ending. Please let me know what you would like to read in the final chapter. I will be taking a few days away from writing to consider your ideas and put something together; I should post an ending around mid-week or so.

My thanks to all of you who have been my companions through this story. I appreciate your partnership, support, and I loved the funny reviews!


	17. Epilogue

Epilogue

Epilogue

George awakened alone in his bed. He catalogued his various aches and pains; they were, of course, too numerous to mention. Since nothing seemed new or unusual, he began the onerous process of getting out of bed. The day would probably come when he wouldn't be able to do so unaided, but that day, he thought with satisfaction, would not be today.

He was, however, a bit tired. Maybe he should skip Sunday breakfast at Winifred's. Her eggs were always woefully overdone anyway. George smiled fondly. That woman had a brain like a steel trap. Just like her mother. Couldn't boil water without burning it, though. Still, she'd insisted on taking over Sunday breakfast after Hermione had died, and thus a new tradition had been born. Every weekend her siblings, kids and grandkids packed into the house, no matter how bad the food was. It was a crazy, noisy, mess of a family, but it was always full of love, a fact of which George was justifiably proud.

But today, what he wanted was not the bustle of family, but silence and solitude. He wanted thinking time. And so, George took his morning meal in his obstreperous garden. It was spring, and every flower in the garden was in bloom. Rose and jasmine spread their scent, and the air was busy with insect and bird life. Hermione had always loved the garden in Spring. It made him feel close to her just to sit here.

Hermione. What a woman. Never backed down from a fight in all her life. The way she took on the Wizangamot…they never even saw her coming. She'd hit that patriarchal outdated mess of an institution, and brought it around to a model of efficiency and justice in just under a decade of focused work. But, important as she became, she never lost her humor. That the new procedures had been posthumously named the Granger Codex would have made her laugh hysterically.

They had had seventy fantastic, challenging, wonderful years together. She'd been the best partner in crime a man could ask for. George sighed…she'd been so beautiful to him that he had never even noticed when her hair grayed and the bloom faded from her cheeks. From the moment she'd sung that birthday song until three years ago when she'd closed her eyes for the last time, she had been his brightest joy.

George teared up, and promptly laughed at himself. He sure was maudlin today, reminiscing like an old fart. Of course, he was 97 year old…If the shoe fit…Anyway, he was entitled to do a bit of musing about his life, wasn't he?

What a life. It humbled him to think of how fortunate he'd been. Joy and sorrow in equal measure. He could see now just how intertwined the two had been, how the losses had given depth to the joys. The pain had highlighted the happiness, so that it was impossible all these years later to pinpoint where one ended and the other began.

It was all so…so rich. Yes, that was it. Rich, like a fine meal, full of complexity, texture and contrast. And love. Such love. Fred. Gods, how he'd loved that miserable arse. Never stopped loving him, did he? Named his first after him, even though she'd been a girl. Winnifred. Always, secretly his favorite. Course, he loved all the kids. So blasted different they were, every single one of them. Then, they gave him grandkids, and didn't he and Hermione have a ball with that one! There was no joy in life like holding your child's child for the first time. And Hermione. His Hermione. How he'd loved her. As he thought about it all he found it amazing that his heart had felt so much love and hadn't burst like an overfilled balloon. He was, he knew, an unfairly lucky bastard.

George, humming contentedly to himself, tipped his heavily lined face up to the sun. What had his brother said? That he'd had a good run? That was it. Precisely. He'd had a damned good run.

A shadow passed over George's face, but he kept his eyes closed. "Think of the devil. I know you're here. I can feel you." He opened one rheumy eye. "Been wondering when you'd be by."

Fred smiled rakishly. "Damn, you're good looking!"

Despite the long years between them, George's smile was still an identical copy of Fred's. "Yes, we are, aren't we? You sure took your time getting here. I've been ready for months now. Business all transferred, odds and ends all put away. Were you on vacation or something? Couldn't rustle up enough time for your dear old brother?"

Fred, unruffled, peered into George's teapot. "These things happen in their own time. Can't be rushed." He poured a bit more hot water from the kettle. "I'm here right when I'm supposed to be."

George scowled half-heartedly. "Look who's all Buddha-like now. Pour me a bit more while you're at it. So what now? Do I get a peak at these famous perks of yours?"

"All those and more. Everyone's waiting for you. Mum, Dad, Ronron…"

"And Hermione?"

Fred smiled, understanding. "She more than anyone. But you knew that, didn't you?"

George reflexively straightened his bathrobe. Wouldn't do to be untidy when he saw his girl again. "Yes, I did." He took a sip of his tea and savored it. "I had a good run, didn't I?"

Fred placed an unlined hand over George's wrinkled one. "We both did."

"So, how long?"

Fred shrugged his shoulders. Can't tell, really. My guess would be a minute or two, not more. I'll stay with you the whole time."

"Damned straight you will. You left without me twice; I'm not letting you leave me behind again."

George took his last minute to look around him. How he'd loved that house! And that willow….how many times had he and Hermione snuck out to make love under its branches? The arbor they'd been married under…how many grandchildren had tied the knot under its roses? Six? Seven? Oh, well, the number was unimportant. What was important was that the love had kept on coming, would keep coming, he knew, long after he was gone.

George was momentarily distracted by a sharp tightening in his chest. It was painful. But he wasn't afraid of pain. And he knew it would be over soon. He found himself curiously pleased that it would be his heart that would do the job. He smiled. Guess the old ticker would burst with love after all.

George Weasley closed his eyes for the last time, and tipped his face to the sun.

Yes, he thought, as the sunlight dimmed, it was enough.

The End.

_In dearest memory of John Adalbert Mastny (1972-1992) whose love gave my life incomparable richness. _

AN: To my dear readers, thank you so much for taking this journey with me. I set out to write a love story between my favorite character, Hermione Granger, and an "unknown" (to me) George Weasley. Well, it didn't turn out as I'd pictured it. Instead, we have a story of healing; in essence, a love story between George and life. Yes, Hermione was part of that, but mostly, this story belongs to George.

I thank you all for adjusting to this unforeseen change in direction with such generosity of spirit. Your support and encouragement has really kept me going.

In parting, I wish to leave you all with two simple bits of unsolicited advice:

Never forget that the human heart can heal from **anything**. And never give up on life…you never know what will come next.

Thank you, all of you, for walking with me.

With Gratitude,

Libby/Theolyn


End file.
